Everything Changes
by GoofyGal2008
Summary: In the wake of devastating tragedy, the team struggles to hold itself together with a vital piece missing, while a new case challenges personal assumptions, bringing long-buried secrets and lifelong regrets to the surface for one CSI. Post-season five.
1. Talking

**A/N:** I originally began publishing this story in July 2009. Obviously, things stalled after chapter sixteen, mostly due to personal issues taking too much of what used to be my writing time. Now (September 2010) I have begun getting back into my writing, and am starting to go through this story chapter by chapter, editing and slightly reworking some things that I think could be improved. As soon as I finish updating the original sixteen chapters, I will resume posting new chapters. Thank you for your patience!

This story begins approximately six weeks after the season five finale. In terms of pairings, there is some Danny/Lindsay, simply because that is part of the normal storyline, and because Lindsay figures prominently in this story. Other than that, though, there are no outright pairings, at least not in the beginning - obviously, there will be moments that you can read things into the dialogues, but I'm not declaring any other pairings.

I really don't want to give too much away in an author's note, so I think we'll just start the story now…

**Disclaimer:** As has always been the case, I don't own the show or any of the characters in it and derive no profit from this story. This applies to all chapters (because I'm just too lazy to post this every time I put up a chapter).

* * *

Lindsay Monroe sighed as she leaned forward, her dirty blonde hair brushing against her wrist as her elbow came to rest on the desk in front of her. Carefully, she reached one hand up to massage her neck, using the other to flip yet another page in yet another of the meaningless case reports she'd been assigned to review. As her eyes swept over the page, she sighed again, the weight of the boredom that came with desk duty quickly sapping what little energy she might have had remaining after another sleepless night spent in the tiny apartment nursery with her daughter.

It wasn't the late nights that she minded, of course. In her heart, she knew that those would be the memories she would treasure most in the years to come – the quiet early morning hours spent rocking slowly in the nursery, the moonlight streaming through the window as Lucy fell asleep in her arms. No, if that were her reward, she could deal with the lack of sleep, with the constant exhaustion-fueled headache, with the early morning alarm clocks and the late night feeding sessions. All of that she knew she could handle, if only someone would walk through her office door and give her something – anything – even remotely interesting to do.

"You look like you could use this," Danny Messer announced, startling Lindsay out of her half-asleep haze when he stepped into the office. Pressing a cup of coffee into her hands, Danny perched on the edge of her desk and leaned down to kiss her softly.

Lindsay smiled gratefully and took a large gulp of the plain black liquid, just the way she preferred it.

"I missed you this morning."

"Yeah, didn't want to wake you. Got an early call-out."

Lindsay nodded, knowing from the way Danny's shoulders tensed and he looked away from her that the scene must have been a hard one. Offering up a reassuring smile, she placed a comforting hand on his knee.

"Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Homicide on the Upper West. We found the guy's kid a few blocks away. She wasn't hurt, thank God, but she had his blood spattered all over the back of her clothes, like she was standin' right in front of him, lookin' at the shooter when he got shot."

"Poor thing," Lindsay said sadly.

"Some bum found her hiding behind a dumpster, wanted us to move her 'cause she was invading his turf or something. Took an hour to convince her to come out, and she still hasn't said a single word since we found her."

"How old is she?"

"Maybe three," Danny said uncertainly. "No way to know for sure unless we can get some sort of ID on her or the vic. Looks like the killer took his wallet, watch, wedding ring, everything. Adam's running his prints now, but if we don't get a hit, this kid's our only shot a quick ID."

"Not to mention the fact that she's hopefully got a mother out there somewhere who's worried sick about her," Lindsay pointed out. "Have you tried talking to her?"

"Me, Flack, Hawkes, Mac – hell, even Adam gave it a shot, but we got nowhere."

"Maybe she'd be more comfortable with a woman? I could try," Lindsay offered. "I know I'm supposed to be on desk duty and banned from doing anything interesting or useful, but…"

Danny laughed at the sarcasm in Lindsay's tone. He knew just how much she hated being forced to stay in the lab since returning from her medical leave.

"I'm sure Mac would make an exception to the useful rule," he said.

"I wish he'd just give it up and let me back in the field."

"He will, he will," Danny assured her. "You know he just doesn't want you to push too hard. None of us do. You did get shot, Montana, in case you forgot that tiny little detail. The doctors said take it real easy for a while, remember?"

"I was off for six weeks, Danny," she reminded him testily. "That's an eternity in this profession, you know that. And that's not to mention the fact that right before that, I was off for almost three months on maternity leave. If I don't get back out into the field soon, I'm going to start forgetting how to investigate."

"Somehow, I highly doubt that." Danny chuckled as he held out his hand to Lindsay. "Come on, the kid's in Mac's office, I'll walk you down there."

Danny didn't miss the slight wince the crossed his wife's face as she eased herself out of the chair and took his hand. Despite her protestations that her wounds were fully healed and she was ready to return to full duty, Danny was secretly grateful that Mac had insisted on such a slow return. Although it certainly didn't sit well with Lindsay, he knew that in the long run, returning to the field before she was physically capable would have been more detrimental to her career than a few extra weeks on desk duty – not to mention the purely selfish fact that he felt better knowing she was tucked away in their office, far from harm's way.

He'd always known that their job was dangerous, of course. He'd have to have been a fool to deny that, especially after losing two close colleagues to it. Somehow, though, the sight of his wife bleeding on the floor of that bar, the hours he'd spent pacing the hospital waiting room, the terrifying week it had taken for her to wake up after the attack – something about that day had made it all suddenly, frighteningly real for him. What it would feel like to lose her wasn't just some distant figment of his nightmares anymore, and even when Lindsay was physically ready to return to the field, Danny wasn't sure he'd be emotionally ready to have her back out there.

Rounding the corner, the two investigators paused in front of the glass walls of Mac Taylor's office, staring into the nearly empty room together.

"That's her," Danny said, nodding to the little girl tucked into the corner of Mac's couch, her head cast down as she fingered the fiery red hair that fell over her shoulders.

Lindsay's eyes widened in shock and she shook her head at the sight.

"What?" Danny asked in confusion.

"No, no, nothing," Lindsay said quickly, shaking herself back to the present moment. "It's nothing. She just looks like someone I used to know a long time ago, that's all."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, no, I'm sure, it's fine," Lindsay assured him. "Why don't you wait here while I go talk to her?"

"Alright," Danny agreed, giving her hand a final squeeze before relinquishing it. "Good luck."

* * *

Lindsay smiled reassuringly as she knelt down in front of the couch, looking up into the little girl's emerald green eyes.

"Hi there," she said. "My name's Lindsay. What's yours?"

Getting no response, Lindsay remained silent for a moment, watching the girl's fingers wrap and unwrap strands of her hair. Her eyes seemed to almost bore into Lindsay, and she couldn't help but again marvel at the uncanny sense of familiarity she got from this tiny stranger.

"Can you tell me what your name is, sweetie?" Lindsay asked again, still getting no response. "I know, it's pretty scary right now, isn't it? You don't know anyone here, and all these people are asking you questions."

Lindsay sighed, patting the girl lightly on the knee before slowly easing herself up off of her knees and onto the couch next to her.

"You know, you look an awful lot like a little girl I used to know," she continued, watching the girl's every reaction with a growing sense that the resemblance she saw was perhaps too strong to be attributed simply to coincidence. As it did, she wasn't entirely certain if the possibility excited or frightened her.

"Are you hungry?"

The little girl stared skeptically at Lindsay for a moment, silently evaluating her and her offer, before slowly nodding uncertainly.

"What do you say we go down the hall and get a little snack?" Lindsay suggested. "We've got a little kitchen, and I'm sure we can scrounge up something pretty tasty. You don't have to talk if you don't to, either. You can just eat."

Standing up and extending her hand, it felt to Lindsay as though an eternity passed before the girl finally reached out and slipped her own hand into Lindsay's, sliding off the couch and following as Lindsay led her quietly out of Mac's office and down the hall toward the break room, Danny's eyes following silently.

"Well, here we are," Lindsay announced when they walked into the break room. "Why don't you sit at that table there and I'll see what I can dig up, okay?"

Lindsay smiled as her little companion nodded silently, pulling herself up onto one of the nearby chairs and turning back to watch Lindsay rummage through the cupboards. Finally finding what she was looking for, Lindsay grabbed a knife and quickly assembled a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

"Here you go," she said, setting it on the table. "It's not exactly gourmet, but it'll have to do for now, I guess."

Lindsay frowned when the young girl shook her head and pushed the plate away.

"What's wrong? Do you not like peanut butter? Are you allergic?"

With another shake of her head, the little girl pointed to the edge of the sandwich.

"Well, this would be easier if you would talk to me, but I think I know what you're saying."

Lindsay picked up the plate and slipped the sandwich onto the counter, grabbing the knife and slicing off the crust.

"You know," she commented as she put the sandwich back on the table. "A long time ago, I used to make these sandwiches for a little girl who looked just like you, and she always used to make me cut the crusts off too. When she was about your age, this was all she'd eat, so I used to call her 'monkey.'"

"That's what my mommy calls me!" the little exclaimed, taking a bite of the sandwich before putting it down. "This is good."

"Thank you."

"Daddy always forgets 'bout the crust," she said, her sudden smile fading quickly as a thought returned to her. "Lindsay?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I think my daddy's dead."

"Oh, sweetie," Lindsay sighed sadly, reaching across the table and placing her hand on top of the girl's. "I'm so sorry."

"Uncle Jimmy shot him."

"You saw who shot your father? You know his name?" Lindsay asked in surprise.

"Uh huh," the little girl nodded. "My Uncle Jimmy did it. I think maybe he was gonna shoot me too, but Daddy said run, so I runned as fast as I could and then the police came and got me."

"Sweetie, do you what Uncle Jimmy's last name is?"

"No," she said. "Does Mommy know about Daddy? She's gonna be sad. Is she gonna be mad 'cause I didn't stop Uncle Jimmy when I saw his gun?"

"Oh, sweetie, of course she won't be mad at you," Lindsay assured her. "I'm sure she'll be sad about your daddy, but she's not going to be mad at you. This was not your fault."

"Okay," she agreed skeptically.

"Sweetie, can you tell me what your name is now?"

"Janie," she said. "My big name is Jane 'lizabeth Olivia Harrison."

"That's quite the name. I like it," Lindsay said. "Janie, how old are you?"

"This many," she proclaimed, proudly holding up four fingers. "But I go to the big girl school, 'cause I'm way smarter than the other kids."

Lindsay smiled at Janie's precocious attitude.

"Janie, sweetie, do you know what your mother's name is?"

"Duh," Janie said with a little giggle. "Mommy."

"Of course it is. And your father's name is…"

"Daddy," Janie filled in. "That's easy."

"Right, of course, sorry," Lindsay nodded, putting her hand on the table and pushing herself up out of the chair. "Alright, Janie, do you think you can say here for a minute? I need to go talk to my friend out in the hall who's going to find your mommy for you. Is that okay?"

"Promise you'll come back?"

"I promise."

Lindsay offered her one last reassuring smile before heading out into the hallway where Danny was waiting for her.

* * *

Don Flack strode into the crime lab late that afternoon, making a beeline for the table where Danny was hunched over a microscope. Danny didn't need to look up to know who was approaching. Flack's stride was heavier these days, as though each step he took required thought and effort. He also didn't need to look up to know he'd find his friend was sporting a three-day beard and a wrinkled shirt – signs enough of problems for the typically well-groomed detective, without even having to consider the heavy bags under his eyes.

"Ya got a name for me yet, Messer? Case is kinda stuck 'til I can get some sort of ID on my John Doe."

"If you'd turned your phone on, you might know the answer. I've only been tryin' to call for the last, oh, three hours. I guess the case really isn't all that important to you, is it?"

Although Danny didn't bother looking up from his microscope, Flack could swear he felt the heat of a scathing stare anyway. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and cursed under his breath as he powered it on.

"Crap, I'm sorry, man. I musta forgot to turn it back on."

"Well, where the hell were you, anyhow?" Danny asked testily. "You're on shift, not to mention in the middle of a case."

"None of your business," Flack said, shaking his head as he cancelled the missed call notification on his phone and shoved it back in his pocket.

"Look, Don, I know it's been a hard couple months since…"

"Don't," Flack interrupted, a harsh edge to his tone. "You ain't my mother, Danny, I don't need to answer to you about where I go or what I feel, and you don't get to pretend that you know a damn thing. Now, you got a name for me or what?"

Danny stared at his friend for a moment, internally debating whether to respond to his attack or brush it aside yet again and continue with case. Picturing the look on Janie's face, and the blood that had stained her clothes, he knew that, at least for now, he had to put his concerns aside.

"Kid's name is Jane Elizabeth Olivia Harrison," Danny said. "Lindsay got her talk a bit. Couldn't get anything on the parents, but she did have something interesting to say about the shooter."

"What? You gonna make me play twenty questions for it?" Flack asked impatiently.

"She said Uncle Jimmy shot her father."

"She knew the shooter?" Flack asked in surprise.

"Sure looks that way."

"Well, there goes my easy-mark tourist-getting-mugged theory," Flack sighed. "Alright, well, I'll run the kid and see what comes up from that."

"Gimme a call when you know something, Lindsay's gonna want to know. She's sort of growing attached to the kid, I think."

"Will do," Flack nodded. Turning quickly, he made his way toward the elevators with impressive walking speed, pausing only to offer a small wave to Lindsay as he passed her in the doorway.

Lindsay watched sympathetically as Flack retreated from the room.

"How's he doing?" she asked, taking a seat at Danny's workstation.

"Not good." Danny shook his head and pushed away from the table in frustration. "Not good at all. I'm worried about him, Montana. He was totally AWOL for three hours this afternoon. No one knew where he was, he had his phone off…he was in the middle of a shift, too. If we'd gotten a call-out, Sinclair woulda had his ass."

"Did you ask him about it?"

"Course I did. He wasn't sayin' nothing, though, 'cept to say it's none of my damn business and I ain't his mother."

"Maybe he was at the cemetery?"

"I called there first. The caretaker said Flack hasn't been there since…well, since the burial, actually."

"I suppose he could have been at the hospital."

Danny shook his head at Lindsay's suggestion. "You know as well as I do that he hasn't been there since…since, well…you know…"

"Since the morning Jess died."

Danny nodded solemnly.

"He needs to go, Danny," Lindsay said gently. "I know it's been harder on him than it has been on the rest of us, first losing Jess and then the bar shooting…it's a lot for anyone to deal with, we all understand that. But he needs to go, Danny. He's the only one who hasn't been there even once."

"I know, but what do you expect me to do about it? I can't force him to go, Lindsay. He barely listens to me these days anyway."

"Talk to him, Danny. I know he's stubborn and I know you think he's not listening, but if anyone's going to get through to him, it's you."

Danny shook his head, unconvinced that any additional effort would accomplish anything that his other dozens of earlier futile attempts.

"He really loved her, Linds, we can't expect him to just get over that at the drop of a hat." Danny paused, his eyes flickering to the gold band on Lindsay's left hand. "I wouldn't."

"I know." Lindsay's voice was soft as she placed her hand over her husband's and squeezed gently. "But we're not doing him any favors by letting him shut down this way, Danny. The brass is going to start to notice, if they haven't already. He hasn't missed any calls yet, but we both know he won't always be that lucky. We've been handling him with kid gloves since the shootings, Danny, but it's time for some tough love. And yes, you have to be the one that dishes it out for him."

"Why me?"

"Because you're his best friend, Danny," Lindsay reminded him. "You owe it to him to at least try. Just promise me you'll think about it, okay?"

"I promise," Danny agreed reluctantly. "Hey, I thought you volunteered to watch that kid. Where's she at?"

"Social Services picked her up," Lindsay said, her tone clearly displaying her distaste with the situation. "Poor little thing, she's scared out of her mind and they're going to stick her with some random foster family if Flack can't find her family by tonight. I just wish…"

"Don't even go there," Danny interrupted cautiously. "You can't keep every cute little kid that passes through the precinct in some sort of trouble. You can't keep her, Montana."

Lindsay sighed and nodded reluctantly. "I know that, I do. It's just that she…"

"She what?" Danny asked curiously, not missing the faraway look that flashed briefly across Lindsay's face as her voice trailed off.

"No, nothing," Lindsay said, a bit too quickly to be entirely convincing. "How much longer do you think you're going to be?"

"Three, maybe four hours, I'd guess." Danny glanced guiltily at his wife and flashed an apologetic half-smile. "Sorry, babe."

"Don't be. I know the job, Danny. Just because Mac won't let me do it doesn't mean I don't understand what it requires. You just do what you need to do to find whoever killed that little girl's father."

"I will," Danny assured her. "Don't mean I don't still hate pullin' doubles, though."

"Well, I hate not pulling them, so I guess we're even."

"Couple months, you'll be singing a different tune on that one, Montana. You headed home now?"

"Probably not. I figured I'd swing by the hospital before I go pick Lucy up at the nursery."

"Yeah, I was thinking of doing the same after I finish up here," Danny said. "If you don't mind me bein' a little late, that is…"

"Don't worry, Lucy and I will leave a light on for you," Lindsay said, offering up a small smile as she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek before heading out of the lab.


	2. Found Her

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I'm glad to see people enjoying this story - keep the feedback coming! This chapter has now been updated as of September 2010.

* * *

Lindsay let out a tired sigh as she leaned against the doorframe of the small, starkly white hospital room, watching the fading sunset cast its final soft glow of the day through the window into the otherwise harsh sterile environment.

"Detective Monroe?"

The timid female voice startled Lindsay slightly, causing her to whirl around. She found herself face to face with a petite blonde woman nervously fingering the edge of the chart she was carrying in her arms.

"Oh Betsy, I didn't see you there. Sorry."

"No, no, it's alright. I didn't mean to frighten you," Betsy said, stepping carefully around Lindsay and into the room. "I just need to check her vitals and change the IV bag."

"Of course. How's she doing today?"

Betsy frowned, glancing up momentarily from the numbers she was recording off the various monitors, carefully considering her words before answering.

"She's about the same, Detective. Her vitals are holding steady, no noticeable spikes or dips today."

"That's…that's a good sign, right? The fact that she's not getting worse?"

"It's something," Betsy agreed hesitantly.

Lindsay knew that tone of voice. It was one that she'd perfected, the one she would use with a victim's family when an investigation was stalled or when she was trying to avoid revealing details she knew would distress them.

"You can say it, Betsy. Whatever it is, you can say it."

"It's just that we're dealing with a traumatic brain injury here, Detective Monroe. Status quo isn't a good thing for too long. It's been six weeks. Typically, if a patient is going to recover, we'll have seen more significant signs of improvement by this point. And the longer we go without seeing those…"

"The worse her chances are," Lindsay said knowingly. Pulling up a chair next to the bed, she reached out and grabbed her friend's limp hand. "Stella's a fighter, Betsy. Whatever the odds are, she'll find a way to beat them, to come through this."

"A positive attitude certainly never hurts," Betsy observed.

"Has she had any visitors today?" Lindsay asked.

"I'd be surprised if she hadn't. She's our most popular patient, after all," Betsy said with a smile. "Detective Taylor was here most of the morning, I think; Dr. Hawkes and Dr. Hammerbeck were here when I came on shift early in the afternoon. Oh, and your friend Adam was here for a few hours, too."

"That's good," Lindsay nodded, still a bit disappointed at the one name she'd known she was unlikely to hear Betsy rattle off.

"Well, that'll do for another few hours," Betsy declared, making one last notation in Stella's chart. "You know where to find me if you need something, Detective Monroe."

Giving the friendly nurse a weak smile before she headed out of the room and on to her next patient, Lindsay turned back to the bed, squeezing Stella's hand gently to let her know she was there.

"Hey Stel, it's me. Lindsay. How's it going?"

Lindsay shook her head, wondering why it was she always instinctively began with such a stupid question. It wasn't as though Stella could answer. If she really wanted to, all Lindsay had to do was look around the room at the plethora of machines monitoring every conceivable vital statistic to glean an answer.

"We had a pretty rough day at the lab today," Lindsay continued conversationally. "Danny and Flack, they caught this homicide on the Upper West Side. Brutal scene, Danny said, even for this city. Get this – this poor guy was short right in front of his four year old daughter. Poor little angel, I don't think she quite gets what happened yet. Of course, that may be a good thing."

Lindsay took a breath and leaned back in the chair, watching Stella carefully for even the faintest sign of a reaction.

"The worst part of it all is that we don't know who this little girl is. She told us her name, but it hasn't helped yet – we don't have an ID on her father or any idea of who or where the mother is. They're processing her into emergency foster care as we speak. God, Stella, it was all I could do to keep from telling that social worker that I'd take her myself, but I know Danny never would gone for it. There's just something about this girl that makes me want to rescue her. Does that make any sense?"

A sad smile crossed Lindsay's lips briefly. She wished that somehow her friend would give her a small sign, just something to let her know that she was still in there, waiting to wake up and help Lindsay figure out this situation.

"No, I suppose it doesn't make much sense to you, does it? Not to me either, really. And yet, she reminds me so much of – well, it's not important who, because it's absolutely impossible. It's just my imagination playing tricks on me right now, that's all. I know that's why I feel like I should do something, though, because of who this girl reminds me of. It's the guilt, Stella – ten years ago, I failed when I should have saved her, and now…now I'm rambling on and you don't have any clue what I'm talking about, do you?"

No, her ramblings didn't even make sense to her, so she knew there was no way they'd make sense to anyone else – assuming Stella could even hear her at all, which she doubted somewhat.

"Yeah, that's about enough of that, right? I really wish I could stay longer tonight, Stella, but I've got to pick Lucy up from the nursery by eight. Besides, you know how they are about visiting hours around here. Danny's going to try coming by after he gets off, though. He and Flack have to finish up a few things on their case first, see if they can find that girl's mother. Oh, you'll have to cut Don a little slack about not coming to see you yet, too. I think this place is still a little hard for him to deal with, what with the fact that the last time he was here was when…well, when Jess died. He just hasn't been handling it well, Stella. I don't know what's happening to us. It's like everyone on the team is starting to drift apart when we should be rallying together more than ever."

* * *

Danny watched Flack from the doorway of the bullpen, noting the way he sat slumped over in his chair, barely moving at all. All of his usual vigor and energy had evaporated weeks ago, and it showed no signed of returning any time soon. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but he also know that, like she usually was, Lindsay was right. It was time someone reminded Donald Flack, Jr. that, like it or not, he still had a life to live, but that if didn't shape up soon and at least start pretending to function, he was going to fast find himself losing friends to share that life with.

"DNA's a bust. Nothing on the father or the kid." Danny's announcement as he approached the desk from behind didn't startle Flack like he'd hoped. The detective merely nodded, reaching for a file folder on his desk and handing it over his shoulder to Danny.

"No sweat, I found her."

Opening the file, Danny found himself staring at a rudimentary missing person's report, which looked as though it had been sloppily thrown together without much thought. A tiny image of little Janie and his victim was stapled to the inside cover.

"Jane Elizabeth Olivia Harrison," Danny read aloud from the page. "Born Jane Elizabeth Montgomery, July 10, 2005, Nashville. Mother's name, Kelly Montgomery. Father unknown. Well now, that don't make sense."

"Keep reading," Flack said.

Danny frowned at his friend, but turned his attention back to the file.

"Ah, there we go. Adopted March 1, 2009 by Ryan Harrison, husband of Kelly Montgomery Harrison. Last seen yesterday, Morningside Heights. How'd you get a missing person's so quick? Ink's barely dry on this one."

Flack shrugged. "We got lucky, I guess. Turns out our vic lives down in Nashville, but he was born and raised in the Heights. Still got a brother up there, and the brother's a sergeant up at the two-seven. When Harrison and the kid didn't show up for lunch today, he freaked and stuck their names in the system even though it hadn't been the standard twenty-four hours, and there wasn't really any sign of foul play. Good thing he did, though, 'cause all I had to do was plug in the kid's name and presto! There she was."

"And the mother?"

"Stayed in Nashville. She's on her way to the airport as we speak. Should be here in a few hours, didn't seem to think she'd have a problem catching a flight."

"Well, Lindsay's gonna be glad to hear the kid won't be spending the night with social services now that you've found the family."

Flack grimaced and shook his head. "Yeah, I wouldn't count on the aunt and uncle takin' her in 'til the mother gets here."

"Why the hell not?"

"Sergeant Harrison's on his way down to ID the body, answer questions, the usual stuff. I mentioned the kid, though, and I could hear the wife in the background, going on about how hell will freeze over before – and I quote here – 'that con artist's brat sets foot in my home.'"

"Sounds like she didn't think too highly of her sister-in-law, then."

"Want to stick around and ask him about it?" Flack asked.

"You know I do. Just let me send Lindsay a quick text, let her know I'll be later than I thought."

Flack shook his head. "You're so whipped, buddy. She home with Lucy already?"

Danny glanced at his watch and shook his head. "Might be, but I doubt it. She was gonna stop by the hospital before headin' back. I was gonna stop by after I leave here, if you wanna join…"

"I thought I told you to drop it," Flack snapped.

"Yeah, well, I don't listen real well," Danny shrugged. "Look, I get it, it's hard. _Everyone_ gets it, Don, but if you don't pull your head outta your ass, you're gonna lose everything you've got left."

"And what exactly have I got left to lose?"

"Your friends, for one. In case you hadn't noticed, you're not the only one struggling here, Flack. Thish team is barely hanging on right now, it sure as hell don't help that you're so distant you might as well not even be here. Don't think it's slipped anyone's notice that you haven't once been by to see Stella."

Flack sighed and ran his hand over his face in frustration. "What good would that do? She's in a coma, Danny, it's not like she knows if I'm there or not."

"You sure about that?" Danny countered. "We don't know what she knows, what she don't know. That's a hell of a risk to take, Don, because whether she remembers or not, when she wakes up and finds out that you didn't once come to see her, she's gonna kick you ass."

"_If_ she wakes up."

"_When_," Danny insisted forcefully, his voice rising slightly in annoyance and anger. "And if you won't pull yourself together for your friends, fine. What about your job? I can't keep covering for you when you wander off like you did today. If you'd been working with Mac, or anyone else…look, next time you miss a call, it's gonna get reported and you're gonna find yourself suspended – or worse."

"Maybe it'd be better that way. Maybe I'm not even supposed to be here, not really."

"Hey now…"

"Look what good it's done me, would ya? I get shot at on a weekly basis, I got myself blown up, one of the only women I've actually let myself fall for gets murdered, the one friend I'd turn to for a shoulder I can't because she's in a coma…what good has this job done for me, huh?"

Danny stood up angrily, crossing his arms over his chest as he hovered just above his friend, glaring down at him. "That's bullshit and you know it, Don. You _are_ this job, same as any one of the rest of us. You can't just walk away. This place is in your blood, damn it! If you need to take some time off to deal with this, fine. Do it. No one will hold it against you. But don't go blaming the job for your problems, because it's bull – Jess wouldn't stand for it, Stella sure as hell wouldn't, and if you were even half in your right mind at this moment, you wouldn't either."

* * *

"Sergeant Harrison. Mrs. Harrison." Flack nodded to the pair seated at the table in the interrogation room as he entered and took a seat opposite them. "Thank you for coming down on such short notice. I'm Detective Flack, I've been working your brother's case."

"We want to help in any way that we can, Detective." Emma Harrison folded and unfolded her hands in her lap in a nervous tic Flack wasn't certain she even noticed, but which immediately raised his suspicions. "It's just terrible what's happened. We're both beside ourselves, as you can imagine."

"Are you sure it's my brother?" Sergeant Matt Harrison's voice shook slightly as he spoke, clearly having a much more difficult time maintaining his composure than his wife, whose stoic expression offered no hint of what she might be feeling.

From behind the one-way mirror, Danny watched the couple and couldn't help but marvel at the lack of connection between them. It was as though they were dealing with two entirely different situations. Sergeant Harrison was clearly distraught over the loss of his younger brother, barely holding it together as he struggled to come to terms with the reality of it all. His wife, on the other, seemed almost more like a petulant child, brought to the principal's office and now trying to sweet talk her way out, showing little regard for her husband's loss and clearly feeling no loss herself.

Flack silently slid a photograph across the table for the sergeant to look at, his silent nod and strangled sob letting Flack know that there had been no mistake. It was Ryan Harrison lying in the morgue a few floors below them.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Sergeant." Flack knew before he'd even said it that the words were hallow. It was a canned response that he somehow couldn't come up with a more appropriate replacement for.

"Matt. Uh, call me Matt, please."

"Alright, Matt. If your niece…"

"By marriage only." Emma's tone of condescension was clear. Flack bit back a retort before taking a breath and continuing his question.

"If your niece were to refer to 'Uncle Jimmy,' do you know who she might be talking about?"

Emma stiffened instantly, subtly biting her lip as she glanced at her husband, almost relieved to find him still staring in shock at the photograph of his brother's body.

"We haven't a clue." Emma spoke for the both of them, it seemed. Flack glanced over at the sergeant, who just nodded mutely.

"Matt, can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your brother?"

Matt shook his head, unable to get a response out.

"Ryan was a wonderful man." It was Emma Harrison who finally spoke when her husband couldn't. "He's on the board of several charities down south, he runs marathons, he teaches Sunday school at his church. He doesn't drink or smoke or gamble. There isn't anything in what he does that could warrant this. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for that little tart he's set himself up with."

"Emma, don't be dramatic." Matt's tone was not nearly forceful enough to stop the glare it earned him from his wife.

"Dramatic, dear?" Emma arched an eyebrow in his direction and shook her head. Turning, she placed her forearms on the table and leaned toward Flack as though about to share a secret. "Detective, my husband has the misfortune of trying to see the good in everyone. Ryan had the same affliction, and look where it got him. I, however, am not so afflicted. I know a gold digging con artist when I see one, so if you're looking for someone who wanted my brother-in-law dead, I suggest you start with Kelly – if that's even her real name."

Matt sighed and glanced at Emma before casting an apologetic stare across the table. "Look, Detective, my brother's wife isn't exactly popular in our family, but I've seen a lot of killers in twenty years on the force, and Kelly Montgomery doesn't have it in her, at least not when her kid's involved. She may be a lot of things, but she's a good mother."

"Well, I'd certainly hate to see what someone would have to do to be considered a bad mother in your eyes, then." Emma scoffed at her husband's statement, staring at him as though he'd just suggested the sky might be green or the ocean purple.

"Mrs. Harrison, why exactly is it that you think we should be looking at your sister-in-law?"

"Ryan was thirty-eight years old, Detective, and I'm sure you noticed, not exactly a young thirty-eight, either. Do you know how old she is?" Flack shook his head. Emma pursed her lips and then continued. "She's twenty-one. She wasn't even legal to drink at their wedding. He's old enough to be her father, for God's sake. When they met, she didn't have two nickels to rub together. She never loved Ryan, she was just looking for a meal ticket and someone to play daddy to that bastard child of hers. Trust me, she wouldn't have looked twice if Ryan hadn't had money."

"Exactly how much money are we talking about here?"

"My brother's a genius, Detective." Flack noted the way Matt couldn't yet bring himself to refer to his brother in the past tense – something Emma had been doing since the beginning of their conversation. "Ryan started a software company when he was in college. He sold it back about nine or ten years ago for a hefty amount. Turned right around and started himself another one a few years later; sold that one this week. I don't know his exact net worth – he's got a lot of investments and stuff I don't know about, but this company he just sold he owned outright. No partners, he bought out the only one about a year ago. The final price on the sale was something close to two hundred million."

Behind the glass, Danny let out a low whistle at the astonishing figure and muttered under his breath. "Well, there's a motive for ya."


	3. Everyone's Sorry

**A/N:** This chapter has been updated as of September 2010 (see first chapter for update explanation).

* * *

Danny poured himself a cup of coffee in the break room the next morning, his back to Flack, who was describing his current theories on the case. "I don't know, man, I still like the wife for it."

"It just doesn't feel right," Flack disagreed with a quick shake of his head.

"You two do realize that this argument is pointless until the wife actually gets here and you can talk to her, right?" Lindsay smiled in amusement, knowing that the two of them had been going back and forth about this from the moment Matt and Emma Harrison had walked out of the precinct the night before.

"I don't see who can like anyone _but_ the wife for it." Danny set a cup of coffee in front of Lindsay before taking the seat next to her. "She had two hundred million reasons to want her husband dead. We've seen wives kill for a lot less, Montana."

"But what about the fact that Janie says 'Uncle Jimmy' shot her father?"

"Sergeant Harrison and his wife said they've never heard of him."

"I don't quite buy that," Flack pointed out.

"Why not?" Lindsay asked.

"Somethin' about Emma Harrison isn't right. The way she acted when I asked about him, I think she knows more than she let on last night."

"Still doesn't clear the wife," Danny insisted. "Jimmy could be an old friend she hired to off her husband. Two hundred million buys one hell of a hitman."

Flack shook his head, still not completely buying the argument. "Knowing that he was in the city with her daughter? There's too much risk that the kid could've been hurt too. Plus, she didn't need to kill him, she coulda just divorced him and gotten plenty of money if that's what she was after."

"The prenup didn't cover that?" Lindsay asked skeptically.

"No prenup." Flack looked almost pleased to have something to deflate Danny's theory, and Lindsay had to fight not to smile at the sight of him actually getting into a case for once.

"You're kidding, right? A guy with hundreds of millions of dollars marries a girl less than half his age – with a kid and apparently without a penny to her name – and he _doesn't_ have a prenup?"

"Matt Harrison told me his brother insisted she was the love of his life and they didn't need a prenup." Flack shook his head and shrugged at the thought. "What can I say, love's blind or something like that. Point is, if this were about money, she could have easily gotten half of everything he had if she'd filed for divorce, without the risk of life in prison."

"She still could have other reasons." Danny refused to give up on his theory without a fight, which didn't surprise Lindsay or Flack. "I mean, look at that age difference. Seventeen years? You can't tell me that don't lead to fights. Maybe she got tired of it and wanted him gone."

Flack's phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out and reading the text message that appeared on the screen, he stood up and tossed it back into his pocket. "Well, we're about to find out, I guess. She's here."

* * *

Flack paused at the end of the hallway, carefully watching the young woman leaning against the wall outside the entrance to the morgue. She held her arms close to her body, wrapped tightly, almost protectively, around her rounded stomach, as though she were trying to somehow block the world out. She leaned her head backward against the concrete wall, her long, flaming red hair falling carelessly around her face. As she moved, Don noticed the way the harsh fluorescent glare of the hallway lit the tears silently streaming down her pale cheeks.

She looked tiny, almost frail, resting there against the wall. Flack figured she couldn't be more than 5'1", 5'2" at most, and with her youthful features still intact, he could easily have mistaken her for being no more than sixteen or seventeen, even with her obvious pregnancy.

"Mrs. Harrison?" Flack approached slowly, his voice low and gentle, worried that he might be intruding on a private moment.

"Kelly." The woman straightened up, gingerly pushing herself away from the wall and wiping at the tears staining her cheeks. "Mrs. Harrison sounds like my mother-in-law or my sister-in-law. Not me."

Flack nodded in understanding. "I'm Detective Flack, homicide division. I'm very sor…"

Kelly shook her head and held up a hand to stop him. "Don't. Please don't say it, Detective. Everyone I've met since I walked into this building has been 'very sorry' for my loss. Quite frankly, I don't really care if you're sorry or not. Right now, there are only two things that I give a damn about: getting my Janie back, and making sure that you find the bastard who killed my husband so that he can pay for what he did."

"I think I can understand."

Kelly frowned, surprised to look at Flack and see genuine understanding in his eyes. "Yeah, I get the impression that you do."

"A social worker is bringing your daughter down to the precinct. You'll need to sign some papers, but it shouldn't take long to get that over with."

"Thank you."

Flack nodded solemnly, knowing that the second half of what Kelly Harrison had requested might not be nearly so easy to accomplish.

"I understand you've asked to see your husband's body. You know that isn't necessary, right? We've already had a positive identification."

"From my brother-in-law. Yeah, I heard." Kelly shut her eyes briefly to stem a fresh flow of tears and pushed her long, side-swept bangs out of her face. "But…it's just hard to get my head around it. A week ago, I was planning a baby shower and a trip to Disney World. Now I have to plan a funeral. This whole situation, it's not the way things were supposed to be, and I don't think I can make myself believe that it really is this way unless I see him."

Flack nodded, again knowing exactly what she was trying to put into words. "Our medical examiner isn't in yet, but I can have one of our CSIs bring you back down when he gets in. In the meantime, why don't we go up to the precinct? We can take care of some of that paperwork I mentioned, and I got a few questions I gotta go over with you. Sound good?"

"I suppose we might as well get it over with."

* * *

"I still say it's gotta be the wife." Danny held open the door to the observation room for Lindsay. "Nothin' else makes sense with what we know."

"We don't _know_ much of anything, Danny."

"Which is why I also reserve the right to change my mind." Danny grinned as Lindsay rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall facing the one-way mirror, staring into the empty interrogation room. "Hey, I never got a chance to ask how Stella was last night. Things got crazy around here with the brother coming in, so I didn't get a chance to drop in."

Lindsay shook her head and leaned against the wall next to Danny. "No change. She's not better, she's not worse. I keep looking for some sort of sign, you know? Every time I'm there, I think maybe I'll see something the doctors missed, something that says she still there, that she's coming back to us."

"Yeah, I know." Danny gently kissed her forehead, slipping his arm around her shoulders as she leaned into him. "It's normal. My ma used to go nuts every time Louie had the tiniest reflex twitch. She was so sure he was comin' back every time."

Lindsay reached up and squeezed Danny's hand, knowing how difficult it was for him to talk about his brother's death or the months he'd spent in a coma leading up to it. She could only imagine how hard it was to be going through it all over again with Stella.

"It'll be different this time," Lindsay insisted. "That won't be Stella."

"I know. She's gotta come back to us." Danny couldn't explain why he felt the need to remain optimistic after all that happened, but he just couldn't consign Stella to Louie's fate, at least not yet.

Seeing movement on the other side of the glass, both Danny and Lindsay straightened up. As the door to the interrogation room opened, they watched as Flack walked in with the young woman they could only assume was the victim's wife.

* * *

"Can I get you something before we start?" Flack motioned for Kelly to take a seat across the table from him. "Water, coffee…?"

"I'd rather we just get the finished." Kelly's voice shook slightly and Flack knew she was still fighting back the tears that had been coming in waves most of the morning.

"Right." Flack pulled out his notebook and pen, slowly pulling back the chair across from Kelly and taking a seat. "Kelly, when was the last time you saw your husband?"

"The…the day before yesterday. I drove him to the airport, helped him get Janie settled on the plane. She doesn't like to fly, but she was so excited for this trip, just her and her daddy. It was all she could talk about for weeks and weeks."

"And can you tell me what airline they came in on?"

"Oh, um, well…they didn't fly commercial. We, uh, we have a private plane." Kelly seemed sheepish about the fact. Her wealth was clearly a concept she still wasn't entirely comfortable with. "I can give you our pilot's name and number, if that'll help."

"That'll do." Flack tore a sheet from his notepad and handed it across the table to her, along with his pen. "Your husband was in New York for a vacation, then?"

"Mostly vacation, yes." Kelly scribbled a few lines on the page before pushing it back across the table. "My husband is a software developer. He has this company he started up a few years back and he was finally ready to sell it. He came up here to sign the final contracts with the buyer, and then he and Janie were going to take a few days to see the sights. Ryan grew up here, so he wanted to take her back to the places he loved as a kid – plus the typical girl stuff, of course. I don't think she'd have ever gotten over it if he hadn't promised to take her to the American Girl Place."

"Do you know if the sale contract was signed yet?"

"It was the first thing he did after they arrived. He called me up afterwards, thought it was a riot how flustered all those corporate suits got when he walked into the office in jeans and a t-shirt, with a four year old tugging at his pants."

"I hate to ask this, but…"

"I was in Nashville yesterday. We have a live-in housekeeper and an on-site gardener who can both confirm that I was at home all day."

"How did you…?" Flack frowned in confusion. Most victims' spouses bit his head off for asking for an alibi. Getting an actual answer out of them was like pulling teeth, but he hadn't even had to ask the question to get answer from Kelly Harrison.

"I haven't exactly been a model citizen most of my life. I know the drill, how these things go. I have my fair share of experience with the criminal justice system."

"May I ask exactly what that experience involves?"

"I don't have any felonies, if that's what you're looking for." Kelly sighed, clearly not eager to discuss her past.

"The more upfront you can be with me now, the sooner we can eliminate you as a suspect and get on with the case."

"Right, of course." Kelly nodded. "It was mostly minor stuff. There were a couple of shoplifting charges, I got in a couple fights at school, that sort of thing."

"Were you convicted?"

"Only once. I, uh, helped my ex steal a car. I testified against him at his trial in exchange for probation. The shoplifting charges were later, but no one presses charges against a girl who steals diapers. Hell, the manager at the Super Mart even gave me a couple months' supply when I got caught."

"Alright." Flack made a few more notes in his book before continuing. "I know this is probably very difficult for you, but can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt your husband? Anyone who might have held a grudge against him?"

"I thought this was a mugging?"

"It may be, but there's some evidence that might suggest otherwise. We've just got to cover all our bases here."

"Ryan's a great guy. He doesn't get in fights, he doesn't make enemies. Everyone loves Ryan. I can't think of anyone who'd want to hurt him."

"And nothing seemed out of the ordinary when you last spoke to him?"

"No, nothing. He'd just left his last meeting, signed all the paperwork, the business part of the trip was over. He said he was taking Janie to this bakery up near where he grew up and then they were going back to the hotel for the night."

"Where were they staying?"

"The Waldorf."

"And was there a reason you didn't come on the trip with them?"

"I was supposed to, originally." Kelly placed her hand on her belly and rubbed it gently. "I've been getting morning sickness real bad this time around, though. The doctor said it would go away after the first trimester, but it didn't. Ryan didn't want me pushing myself too hard, so we thought it would be better if I stayed at home."

"How far along are you now?"

"Almost six months. I think that's another reason Ryan was selling the company. We didn't need the money – Lord knows, we've got more of that than we need, but the company took so much of his time. He wanted to be able to be at home with me and the baby and Janie. He was even excited about changing diapers."

Flack nodded as he continued making notes. "Your husband adopted your daughter last year, correct?"

"A few months after we got married, yes. Janie knows that Ryan isn't her biological father, but she also knows that in every way that matters, he is her father. He loved her just as much as he loves this baby we're having now. Trust me, despite what you may have been taught, Detective, DNA isn't what makes a family."

Flack frowned at the tone in Kelly's voice. She sounded almost bitter as she spoke her last sentence.

"Maybe it's not, but I still have to ask about Janie's biological father. Is he in the picture still? Has he made any attempt to contact you recently?"

"Mark?" Kelly scoffed and shook her head. "Definitely not. When I told Mark I was pregnant, he tried to bribe me into getting an abortion. He never wanted to be a father. I was flat broke when Janie was born, so I let him pay me two grand to list the father as unknown on the birth certificate. I hated him for it at the time, but as it turns out, it made things a hell of a lot easier when Ryan wanted to adopt her."

"And he's made no effort to get in touch? He hasn't called? Maybe stopped by the house to see her?"

"Even if he wanted to, I think he'd find it very difficult to get to us. He's a jackass and I hope he rots in hell, but he couldn't have killed my husband."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because he's serving twelve to twenty as a maximum security guest of the West Tennessee State Penitentiary, that's why."

"What's he in for?"

"Vehicular manslaughter. He stole some old lady's car and ran over a guy in a crosswalk."

Flack arched an eyebrow questioningly. Kelly simply shrugged in response.

"What? I never said he was a saint. We were only together for a few weeks because I needed a place to stay. I sure as hell didn't date him because of his charming personality."

"Alright, well, just to cover all my bases, what's his name? Just so I can check?"

"Mark Carroll."

"So, if your daughter were to mention 'Uncle Jimmy,' would you know who she was talking about?"

Kelly frowned. "Well, sure. James Kendall."

"And who's he?"

"Ryan's business partner. He was Ryan's best friend – Janie's godfather."

Flack nodded and quickly wrote down the name, underlining it several times for emphasis.

"Can you think of any reason he'd be angry with your husband?"

"You can't honestly think that James had something to do with this?" Kelly stared in confusion and shook her head. "No, no…absolutely not. James and Ryan have been friends for twenty years. Yeah, they were going through a rough patch, but no. There's no way…no, James couldn't…why would you think that?"

"What sort of rough patch?"

"James was immature, irresponsible with his money." Kelly's voice had started shaking again, her emotions heightening as she continued. "He made a lot of money off of Ryan's first company, but it wasn't enough for him. Ryan overlooked a lot of things for a lot of years, but recently he had enough. Ryan told him he had to shape up, get his life together."

"When was this?"

"About a year ago, not too long after Janie was baptized. Ryan discovered James had been skimming off the top at the company, that he'd blown everything he made gambling. Ryan should have reported him, but he said James had been through a lot in his life, he needed another chance. So Ryan bought out his share of the company for well over market value so he'd have cash to pay off his debts, then he told him to go get his act together and not call until he had. We haven't seen him more than maybe once a month since then. Do you have some sort of evidence that James was involved in this?"

"Your daughter told one of our detectives that someone named 'Uncle Jimmy' shot her father."

Kelly clapped her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes to try to stem the tears she felt spring to her eyes. Leaning back in her chair, she muttered to herself and shook her head.

"I think that's enough questions for right now," Flack said sympathetically, uncomfortable sitting across from the distraught woman. "Why don't you wait here and I'll go see if that social worker is here with your daughter?"


	4. Recognition

**A/N:** Chapter updated as of October 2010.

* * *

As Flack wrapped up his conversation with Kelly Harrison on one side of the one-way mirror, Lindsay watched wide-eyed from the observation room on the other side. When Flack and Kelly left the room, she let out a shaky breath and leaned heavily against the back wall.

"Okay, so maybe I was wrong about the…" Danny stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of his wife's stunned expression. She stared at the now-empty interrogation room, her face pale, one hand tightly grasping the back of a nearby chair, the other shaking violently as she held it over her open mouth. "Lindsay, what's wrong?"

Lindsay shook her head as Danny moved to her side, gently prying her hand loose from the chair and slipping his own into it to support her.

"I should have seen it, Danny." Lindsay's voice was barely more than a whisper, and she seemed to be speaking more to herself than to her husband. "I thought I saw it, but it seemed too impossible. They have the same hair, the same eyes, the same smile…I told myself it was just a coincidence, but I should have trusted my gut."

"What's going on, babe? What are you talking about?"

Lindsay shook her head again. "It's just…it's impossible. I looked for her, we all did, but she was just gone. Every time we thought we'd found her, she was gone. It's been ten years. What are the odds? After all this time? It's impossible, but I should have known. I should recognized it the moment I saw Janie…it was like looking at the past, I knew it the moment I saw her."

"Babe, I'm tryin' to be real supportive, but you gotta give me a little to go on here. What's going on?"

"Her name isn't Kelly," Lindsay whispered tearfully.

"What is it then?"

"Amanda. Mandy, we called her. Oh God, I never thought I'd get to see her again." Lindsay's hand shook as she reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Are you sure? Maybe Mrs. Harrison just looks a lot like whoever this Amanda person is. If it's been ten years since you've seen her…"

"No." Lindsay was forceful with her interruption, shaking her head vigorously at the thought. "There are some people you just don't forget, Danny. Ten years, twenty years, fifty years from now – I don't care how long, I'd know Mandy anywhere. We all would."

"We?"

"My brothers and I." Lindsay paused when a thought occurred to her. "Oh God, I've got to call Tommy."

"Your brother? What does he have to do with this?"

Lindsay didn't answer, fumbling in her pocket to grab her phone. Pressing a button and holding it to her ear, she stepped a few feet away from Danny as she waited for someone to pick up on the other end of the line.

"'_Lo?" a male voice answered, still heavy with sleep._

"Tommy, it's Lindsay."

"_Linds? What's wrong?" Her brother's voice was instantly filled with concern, something that simultaneous comforted and annoyed Lindsay. "Are you okay? Is it the kid? Did something happen with the baby?"_

"No, no, I'm fine, Tommy. Lucy's fine too."

"_Then what is it? Wait, did that lowlife boyfriend do something? You say the word, I'm there to kick his ass. You need me to do that?"_

"Thomas Brian Monroe!" Lindsay heard another female voice utter a similar exclamation on the other end of the line and from the way her brother cursed, she'd guessed that exclamation had been accompanied by a sharp smack similar to the one she'd have given him if she could have reached through the phone. "We've been over this a dozen times. When are you going to stop assuming the worst in him?"

"_Dunno. Katrina says hello, by the way. Hold on…" Tommy paused as the muffled female voice added something else. "Well, now that's not very nice. She also says I'm an idiot."_

"I don't disagree with her, but Tommy, we really need to talk."

"_Can it wait, Linds? You do realize it's only seven in the morning here, right? On my first day off in over two weeks?"_

"I don't have your schedule memorized, Tommy."

"_Well, whatever it is, make it snappy or call back in a few hours."_

"It's about Mandy. She's…she's here, Tommy."

"_Okay, I'm awake." Lindsay could almost hear her brother sit up in bed, the shock of her statement evident in his voice. "When you say 'here,' where exactly are we talking?"_

"I mean she's here, Tommy. In New York…in the same building I'm in, probably forty feet from where I'm standing right now."

"_Is she okay? Have you talked to her? Is Helen with her? I swear, if that woman is there, I'll kill her myself for what she did…"_

"Helen's not here, not that I've seen."

"_Oh. Good. That's good." Tommy sounded almost disappointed to not have someone to attack. "What's Mandy doing in New York? Did you ask her where she's been the last ten years? Why she never called?"_

"Slow down, Tommy. I haven't talked to her yet. She doesn't even know I'm here. I don't even know if I should talk to her. You remember how things got the time I saw her. We didn't exactly part on the best of terms, remember?"

"_The kid was eleven years old, Lindsay. You had one little fight, that's all. That girl worshiped the ground you walked on. I highly doubt she's still holding a grudge after all these years."_

"I don't know…"

"_Linds, we've been waiting ten years to find her. Don't let her disappear again just because you're scared she might be mad at you."_

"I'll talk to her, Tommy. Just…just give me some time, okay?"

"_Okay, well, give us a few hours and Kat and I will be on our way. I'll text you our flight details once we book something."_

"Tommy, you don't have to come all the way out here."

"_I want to. Linds, you're not the only one who feels guilty about what happened with Mandy. And you're not the only one who's spent ten years looking for her, so don't even try to argue with me. We'll be on the first plane out."_

"Alright." Lindsay had long ago figured out that arguing with her brothers was usually pointless – not that that had often stopped her from trying, of course.

"_We'll see you soon, then. I love you, Linds."_

"I love you too, Tommy." Lindsay slowly flipped her phone shut and turned back to face Danny.

"Well?" Danny asked impatiently. "You want me to play a guessin' game here or you gonna tell me what's goin' on?"

"It's complicated."

"So un-complicate it for me. If you know that woman, you gotta tell me, Lindsay, you know that. She may be looking innocent right now, but she's still a potential murder suspect. If you know something, you gotta talk, babe. Don't shut me out."

"I can't do this right now." Lindsay shook her head as silent tears streamed down her face. "We'll talk, Danny, I promise we'll talk, but I need time…I need to think, I need to figure this out…I just can't do this right now."

Danny sighed, slamming his fist into the wall in frustration as Lindsay hurried out of the room, the door banging shut behind her. He knew whatever was going on, it was big and that there would be no rushing her into any sort of explanation until she was good and ready to tell him - or until it inadvertently slipped out during the investigation, whichever event came first. Although he understood her need for privacy, it irked him to no end that there seemed to still be some small part of her that she was holding back from him, some little part of her life she wasn't willing to trust him with.

* * *

"Social services is probably gonna give you some recommendations for a child psychologist. They should be able to at least tell you who you can call for a referral when you get back to Nashville," Flack explained as he led Kelly down the hall toward the bullpen.

"A psychologist?" Kelly asked in confusion. "Why?"

"Your daughter witnessed a murder," Flack reminded her. "Physically, she's fine, but every child handles trauma differently, and make no mistake, watchin' your father get shot is a trauma."

"Right," Kelly nodded.

"I'm gonna give you a card, too," Flack continued, opening the door to the bullpen. "You can give me a call if you think of anything else that might help; anyone who mighta wanted to hurt Ryan, had some sort of grudge, any little arguments…you know the drill."

"Of course," Kelly nodded, her whole body relaxing as she stepped into the bullpen and saw her daughter standing on the other side of the room, near Flack's desk. "Janie!"

"Mommy!" Janie shouted, instantly releasing the hand of the social worker who was with her and sprinting across the room, practically launching herself into her mother's arms.

"Oh, my baby," Kelly whispered, pressing her face into Jane's hair, taking a deep breath to convince herself that she was really and truly there. "Oh, baby, Mommy's here now."

"Mommy, Daddy died," Jane said sadly, looking anxiously at her mother.

"Oh, baby," Kelly sighed, running a hand along Janie's cheek and gently kissing her forehead. "I know, monkey, I know about Daddy."

"I told him not to," Jane continued. "Mommy, I told Uncle Jimmy not to hurt my daddy, but he didn't listen…he didn't listen to me, Mommy."

"Shhh," Kelly whispered. "It's okay, sweetie. Uncle Jimmy did a very bad thing, and now the detectives are going to find him, and they're going to make sure he gets punished for it."

"Is he gonna go in time-outs?" Jane asked.

"Something like that," Kelly agreed. "He's going to have a very long time-out."

"Good," Jane nodded solemnly. "Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?" Kelly asked.

"Can we go home now?" Jane asked.

"We're going to go back to the hotel, sweetie," Kelly said. "We need to stay here a few more days so Mommy can do some things, alright?"

"I guess," Jane agreed begrudgingly.

"Kelly, I have to make sure you know that you can't go back to your husband's hotel room," Flack interrupted gently. "At least not right now."

"Why not?" Kelly asked. "All of Jane's things are there."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Flack said. "It's standard procedure – murder victim, we gotta get a warrant and search the place of residence. Things have been a little slow round here, so the warrant took a while. We still gotta have a team go through that room."

"Alright," Kelly nodded, standing back up from her kneeling position and taking her daughter's hand. "I, uh, I gave the officer that escorted me in my contact information. We'll…we'll get another room at the Waldorf; will you call when I can – well, you know, see him?"

"Of course," Flack nodded, watching as Kelly and Janie carefully made their way through the maze of detectives' desks to exit the bullpen.

"So I guess maybe she didn't do it after all," Danny commented, coming up behind his friend.

"It don't look that way," Flack agreed. "Where's Lindsay?"

"She, uh, needed some fresh air," Danny said vaguely, not wanting to involve Lindsay any more than he had to until he figured out exactly what was going on. "We got that search warrant for the vic's hotel room yet?"

"Right here," Flack said, reaching into his front pocket and pulling out the sheet of paper. "You up for a little trip to the fancy side of town?"

* * *

Danny let out a low whistle as he and Don stepped inside Ryan Harrison's hotel room – or, more precisely, the living room of his multi-room suite. A team of uniformed officers spread out through the massive space on the thirty-seventh floor of the Waldorf-Astoria while the two detectives stood back and took in their surroundings.

"This place must be two, three times the size of the place Lindsay and I rent," Danny observed in awe.

"Yup, this here's the good life," Flack agreed, shaking his head as he looked up at the crystal chandelier sparkling above them.

"How much do you suppose a room like this goes for? Nine hundred? A thousand, maybe?"

Flack scoffed at the figures. "In your dreams, Messer. I talked to the concierge on our way up. For this suite here, try closer to three grand."

"A week?"

"A _night_."

"Damn."

"Detective Flack!" A young officer stuck his head out of the master bedroom at the end of the hall. "I think you might want to take a look at this."

Flack nodded to Danny, who headed off in the direction of the full kitchen, before hurrying down the hall to the bedroom. "What've you got, Lopez?"

The officer hesitated for a moment, then handed Flack a neatly folded sheet of notepaper and a photograph. "I found these on the desk. Figured you might want to get a look at them."

Don frowned in confusion as he looked at the photograph, his breath hitching when he opened the paper and read the words written on it.

"Messer, get your ass in here!"

"What's up? Your boys find something?" Danny poked his head into the room.

"Recognize this?" Don held up the small, wallet-sized photograph for Danny to see.

Danny sucked in a breath and nodded, staring in confusion at the image of his wife, much younger in the photograph, smiling broadly in a Bozeman PD uniform and kneeling on the ground, her arms wrapped from behind around the waist of a young girl who looked remarkably like a slightly older version of Jane Harrison – or, Danny supposed, a much, much younger version of Kelly Harrison.

"Lopez found it on the vic's desk." Don paused for a moment, hesitating before he handed Danny the notepaper. "This too."

Taking the sheet in his hand, Danny carefully opened it, not bothering to hold back his gasp when he read the words scrawled on the page:

_Lindsay Monroe  
__212-555-8209  
__23 W. 17__th__ St., Apt. 7G_


	5. What You Need

**A/N: **Updated as of October 2010.

* * *

Don let out a shaky breath, the small bouquet a flowers clenched tightly in his hand as he paused across the street from his destination. After the shock of finding Lindsay's photograph and contact information in Ryan Harrison's hotel suite, he had quickly dismissed Officer Lopez and sent him back to the precinct, despite the fact that the young man had been on the force long enough to know exactly what was about to happen. Flack had taken the evidence bags containing the note and the photograph, letting Danny know he had exactly two hours to locate his wife and get a damn good explanation for what they had found. After that, as much as he dreaded it, Flack knew he would have to log the evidence and inform not only his superior, but also Lindsay and Danny's, of the possible conflict of interest. If there was one thing Flack knew, it was that Mac Taylor would not take kindly to even the slightest appearance of conflicts of interest among his investigators.

He hoped that Danny would be able to coax the truth out of Lindsay, but in the meantime, he was left with two hours to avoid questions on the case. When he'd left the hotel, he'd figured that this was as good a time as any for another attempt, but as he neared the building, he was struck by the feeling that once again, he wasn't going to make it across that final street and that once again, his flowers would end up at a the bottom of a nearby trash can, neither one of them able to reach their intended final destination.

Sinking down onto the now-familiar bench at the bus stop, Don wondered again what the hell was wrong with him. It was a building, nothing more – a carefully engineered compilation of iron and steel and brick. Nothing about it should be enough to paralyze a decorated NYPD detective, so it irked him to no end that for some reason he couldn't quite overcome, it did just that.

Hearing an unexpected movement beside him, Don glanced to his left and nearly fell off his seat in shock when he saw Mac Taylor take a seat beside him. He winced as he waited for the inevitable scolding he was certain to receive, either for his inability to take the final steps and enter the building or for slipping away unannounced in the middle of his shift – he wasn't quite sure which offense Mac would find more distasteful.

Resting his elbows on his knees, Mac leaned forward in a position that somewhat imitated Don's own forward slump, although with decidedly better posture. As the minutes ticked by in silence, the expected scolding failed to materialize and the two men sat in silent contemplation, both staring intently at the building across the street.

"I waited a year," Mac said quietly, eventually breaking the silence that was still hovering over the two men nearly twenty minutes later.

"'Scuse me?" Flack asked, startled by the sudden sound of Mac's voice and not following his train of thought at all.

"To go back to the World Trade Center site. After the attacks…after Claire died…I couldn't even go south of Chambers Street for most of a year."

Don simply nodded, silently encouraging Mac to continue talking. Everyone knew that Mac Taylor had lost his wife in the attacks of September 11th, but that had been several years before Don had made detective and begun working with the CSI team. In all the years since, although he had slowly grown to consider Mac a friend as much as a mentor, he had still rarely heard him mention, let alone discuss, either the life or the death of his late wife.

"Claire would never have stood for it," Mac said. "I knew that. I knew she would have told me I was being irrational – I even told myself that most days, but it didn't make much difference. Claire would have smacked me upside the head and dragged my ass down to the memorial site."

"How did you do it?" Don asked. "What made you finally go there?"

"Stella came over the day of the first anniversary," Mac shrugged. "She knew I wouldn't go, so she came over…and she smacked me upside the head and dragged my ass down to the memorial site."

Don couldn't help the small laugh that escaped his lips at Mac's statement, matched by the slight smile on Mac's own face.

"That sounds like Stella," Don said, Mac nodding in agreement.

"She knew it wasn't the place that bothered me," Mac continued. "It was knowing that that was the last place that Claire was just Claire Taylor – my wife, my best friend…the last place she was just herself. It was the place where she stopped being all of that and suddenly became Claire Taylor, _victim_."

"We got a crappy system, ya know," Don pointed out, recognizing a familiar disgust in the way Mac said the last word. "Definin' people by the way they die; Jess woulda hated being called a victim."

"I know," Mac said. "Claire was never a victim; she was strong, independent, vibrant – the opposite of everything that word stands for."

"I heard some reporter say it right after the shooting, and I wanted to deck her," Flack said. "Jess woulda gone nuts if she could hear the way people talk now."

"Going there didn't change anything," Mac said. "After that first visit, I didn't feel better, I didn't feel worse. Claire was still gone, people were still never going to know her as anything but a victim. Seeing the place again didn't change anything about that, because as much as I still associate so much more with it, in the end, it is _just_ a place."

"So it doesn't matter," Don said. "If I go or if I stay, it doesn't matter."

"I didn't say that," Mac said. "It doesn't make it better, and it won't make it worse, but if you let it go, it's always there, hanging over you; if you let it hang over you, it becomes what keeps you from moving forward. It becomes more about the place than about her, and that's not fair to her memory either."

"It's only been six weeks…" Don pointed out.

"I know," Mac nodded. "Don, you lost the woman you loved, just like I did. But that's where the similarities end, because I had the luxury of time. There wasn't anything waiting there for me that wasn't going to be there day after day. You can't say the same thing and you know it."

"I do?" Don asked in confusion.

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be making such an effort," Mac said. "I tried maybe once every week or two to make it to the World Trade Center. You're here every day, sitting on this bench for hours at a time. You want to go in, you know you need to. She's my best friend, Don; it kills me to say it, but you _really_ don't have the luxury of time here."

"Is she gettin' worse?" Don asked in concern.

"She isn't getting better," Mac said sadly. "At this point, that's nearly the same as getting worse. Every day that she doesn't improve, it becomes exponentially less likely that she ever will. Her vitals are holding steady for now, but they aren't terribly strong, Don – one way or the other, she isn't going to be in her current condition much longer."

"I just…today…I don't think I can," Don admitted, quickly wiping a few tears from his face, hoping Mac hadn't noticed them fall.

"Tomorrow, then," Mac said sympathetically, slowly standing up, clapping Don gently on the shoulder and taking the flowers from his hand. "I'll take these up to her…you've wasted enough good flowers lately."

* * *

Mac nodded briefly to the nurses at the front desk as he walked past them, not slowing his stride until he was inside the confines of Stella's room. He knew they all thought he was a bit unfriendly, maybe even standoffish. The others all stopped and chatted every day, getting to know the men and women who were so diligently caring for their friend. It wasn't that Mac didn't care, or that he didn't appreciate the work they were doing for Stella. It was just the nature of his visits – he couldn't slow down, couldn't let himself think about what he was doing and where he was going, or he knew he was likely not to make it at all.

Mac knew that Don had been right all those years earlier when he had observed that Mac had an excellent poker face, one that came in handy more often than not, both on the job and off. Everyone knew he was a dedicated friend, making the daily trek to the hospital and spending countless silent hours by Stella's side, holding her hand and saying his silent prayers. Not even those who sat directly across the bed from him could have guessed exactly how much the situation was eating at him, how many horrid nightmares it was dragging up and how terrified he was of what the eventual outcome could be.

As he carefully arranged Don's flowers in a plastic hospital cup and set them at her bedside, Mac couldn't help but think of how Stella would scold him if she were awake. She'd tell him he was taking too much upon himself, that he needed to let someone in, needed someone that he could lean on and let see the pain and fear he was experiencing.

"That's always been you, Stel," he whispered, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on her forehead before settling into a chair by her side.

"They need you, Stella," he said softly, taking her hand in his as he always did. "Our team needs you here, needs you back with us. _I_ need you back, Stella."

On those rare occasions that Mac was completely honest with himself, he knew that statement was more true than he was comfortable with. There were very few people in his lifetime that he'd let in as much as he had let Stella in. A buddy or two from his Marine days and his wife – he couldn't think of anyone else. Of those, only Stella was left in his life, the others long since separated from him by death. The thought of existing in a world in which he truly had no one who connected with him on that level terrified him more than he could have put into words even if he had wanted to.

"I've been thinking a lot about Claire lately, you know," he said, leaning a little closer to Stella so that he could lower his voice, as though uncomfortable with the thought of a passer-by being privy to his thoughts. "It's been eight years, but lately it feels like I'm living it all over again. I remember spending night after night sitting by the phone, waiting for someone to call – anyone, really, anyone who could tell me that they'd found her; after a few days, I didn't even care what they were going to say, if they'd found her alive or if they'd found her body. I just wanted an answer. Do you remember that?"

Mac sighed and squeezed Stella's hand just a little tighter for a moment.

"Of course you do, you were right there," he continued. "I suppose it can't hurt to tell you that I'm afraid right now, Stella. You've got to give me a little something to go on, because I'm sitting here day after day, acting like everything's perfectly normal, but I'm terrified, Stella. I'm terrified that I'm getting to that point with you – that point where any news, good or bad, would be better than no news at all; that point where I don't care what the phone call says when it comes, as long it comes. And I can't do that, Stella, I can't get to that point with you. God, this is like Claire all over again – not knowing if today you're going to be dead or alive, if today we're going to find you somewhere in there. I don't want to pressure you, because I know you're doing the best you can, but I just don't think I've said it before. The whole team needs you, Stella, but more than that, _I_ need you, so if there's anything else you've got left to fight with, anything you've been holding in reserve…well, now would be a really good time to use it."

* * *

Danny sighed as he slipped his key into his apartment door, not at all looking forward to the conversation he knew he needed to have with his wife. Part of him wanted to go back to the lab, bury himself in the decidedly less complicated world of forensic evidence and ignore the myriad of frightening possibilities that had been popping into his head from the moment Flack had showed him that note in the victim's hotel room. He knew, though, that he couldn't avoid things any longer – this was part of what he'd signed on for when he'd said 'for better or for worse' and he'd be damned if he was going to let Lindsay down when she clearly needed him.

Stepping into the apartment, Danny was surprised to find Lindsay sitting alone on the couch, a small stack of pictures he'd never seen before spread out on the coffee table in front of her, tears streaming down her face as she numbly ran her fingers over them.

"I'm sorry," Lindsay whispered as Danny quickly knelt beside the couch and took her hand in his.

"What for?" Danny asked in confusion.

"I should have told you, Danny," Lindsay said. "I said we needed to tell each other everything, but I kept this…I wanted you to let me in, but I didn't let you in, not all the way…"

"Hey, it's okay," Danny assured her gently. "You can tell me now, babe. Whatever's going on, you can tell me now and we'll figure it out together. You know I'd do anything for you, right? You just need to tell me what's going on."

"I screwed up, Danny," Lindsay admitted tearfully.

"How?" Danny asked gently. "Tell me how, Montana."

"I can't," Lindsay said, biting her lower as she shook her head. "You'll hate me."

"Lindsay Monroe Messer, I could never hate you," Danny said sincerely. "I don't care what happened, nothing could make me love you any less."

"Then why do I have to tell you?" Lindsay asked evasively.

"Because you either tell me now," Danny said carefully. "Or you tell Mac this evening."

"What?" Lindsay asked, wiping her tears and staring at Danny in confusion. "Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not," Danny said. "But Linds, we searched Ryan Harrison's hotel suite today and he…well, he had a picture of you and a note with your name, cell number and _our_ address."

"Are you sure?" Lindsay asked in confusion.

"I know our address, Linds," Danny said. "And it was an older picture, probably eleven or twelve years old, but it was definitely you. You were wearin' a Bozeman PD uniform, had your arms around this kid…"

"This one," Lindsay said knowingly, reaching to the photographs in front of her, handing Danny an exact copy of the one he'd seen in Ryan Harrison's room.

"Yeah, that's it."

"That was eleven years ago," Lindsay said. "It was the day I graduated from the police academy, actually. I was twenty-two, Mandy was ten."

"Lindsay, why would he have this picture?" Danny asked.

"I don't know," Lindsay said in exasperation, tossing the picture back onto the table. "I don't know, Danny. I didn't even know that she had a copy of it, so I don't know why her husband would have it, and I don't have a clue why he'd have my address in his room, alright?"

"Alright," Danny nodded, scooting onto the couch and wrapping his arms around her. "Can you just tell me how you know her? Is she a friend of your family?"

"Not exactly," Lindsay said, sighing as she rested her head on Danny's shoulder. "I really, really screwed up with her, Danny."

"You gotta trust me, Montana. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I have four older brothers," Lindsay said. "You know that."

"Yeah, I do," Danny agreed. "I've had, uh, _interesting_ conversations with all of 'em, I think."

"Yeah," Lindsay nodded. "They've always been a little overprotective of me. I wonder sometimes if maybe we'd been even half as protective of Amanda, how different things could have been for her."

"Lindsay, why would you need to protect her?"

"Because that's what we were supposed to do, Danny. You're supposed to protect your baby sister."


	6. Shame

**A/N:** Alright, I know this chapter probably raises more questions than it answers...hang in there, because we're about to get to the stuff I'm _really_ excited about!

* * *

"Your sister," Danny repeated in shock. "Kelly Harrison is your sister?"

"Well, half-sister, anyway," Lindsay said.

"You've never mentioned a sister, Lindsay," Danny said carefully. "Why not?"

"I don't know, because I'm ashamed," Lindsay admitted tearfully.

"Of her?" Danny asked.

"What? God no, of course not," Lindsay said. "No, of me…of the way I acted; of the way the whole family acted. She was just a kid, Danny, none of it was her fault, but we just couldn't see that."

"What wasn't her fault?" Danny asked in confusion.

"Does it strike you as odd that I have a twenty-one year old half sister when my parents have been married for forty-five years?" Lindsay asked.

"Well, I wasn't gonna say nothing…" Danny said.

"I always thought we had the perfect family," Lindsay said, wiping a few tears from her eyes. "And then one day this woman shows up on our doorstep, tells my mother her name is Helen and then hands her a baby carrier and takes off."

"She just left the baby?" Danny asked.

"What kind of a mother does that, right?" Lindsay asked, reaching out and grabbing one of the photographs from the table, handing it to Danny. "She was a gorgeous baby, too."

"Yeah, she was," Danny agreed, looking down at the image of a young pre-teen Lindsay sitting in a rocking chair, awkwardly cradling a baby in her arms. "How old were you?"

"Twelve," Lindsay said. "Helen left a note explaining that the baby was my father's; my brothers and I thought it all had to be some big joke, some horrible prank that someone was playing. We'd never even seen Helen before, so how could she and my father have a baby, right? But then he came home and he didn't deny it. He admitted he'd had an affair, and the timing all lined up…it almost killed my mother."

"But she took in Amanda anyway?" Danny asked.

"She let her stay in our house, if that's what you mean," Lindsay said. "But she couldn't even look at her, let alone take care of her…my brothers and I did what we could, but it was so hard when we all blamed her – she was this little personification of the fact that my father was a cheater. Tommy's wife – fiancée, at that point – Katrina, she ended up doing most of the work. Kat practically lived at our house, taking care of her. She even managed to get Tommy to agree that they would take Mandy in after the wedding."

"That all sounds like a good thing, Lindsay," Danny pointed out.

"They never got to that point," Lindsay said. "I came home from school one day about six months after she first showed up and she was gone – the crib, the toys, everything was gone. My mother said Helen had changed her mind and come back for Mandy. Honestly, I was relieved that she was gone. Things got…well, almost normal, I guess. My parents weren't back to where they were, but things definitely got better."

"But you did see her again?" Danny said questioningly.

"Helen would bring her down for a week every summer," Lindsay said. "She came for Christmas one year – I think she was eight; every now and then, Helen would just show up unannounced and drop her off for a week or two."

"I can't believe your father just let her change her mind like that," Danny mused aloud.

"She didn't," Lindsay said.

"But you said…" Danny began.

"I only found this part out a few years later," Lindsay said. "But apparently my father thought taking Mandy would be unfair to Tommy and Katrina's marriage, so he tracked Helen down and paid her to take her back."

"Paid her?" Danny asked in confusion.

"Twenty thousand dollars," Lindsay clarified.

"Crap," Danny muttered. "Where'd your father get that kind of money?"

"My college fund," Lindsay said with a dry laugh. "Well, mine and Lucas', but he didn't need his, because he went to West Point, so we didn't find out until I tried to get mine when I was eighteen."

"Lindsay, what happened to Amanda?" Danny asked gently. "How did she end up as Kelly Harrison?"

"I don't know," Lindsay said, the tears welling up in her eyes again. "I don't know, Danny, today was the first time I've seen her in ten years. I don't know where she's been, why she changed her name, why her husband had my name in his hotel room…I don't know anything about her, Danny."

"Okay," Danny nodded, getting up and pulling Lindsay to her feet, letting her cry against his chest for a moment, knowing that now was not the time to push for more answers. "You know we have to go down to the precinct and talk to Mac, right?"

"Now?" Lindsay asked.

"It'll only be worse if we put it off, Montana," Danny said.

"I know," Lindsay sighed. "I've…I've just got to call the nursery and tell them we'll be a little late picking Lucy up tonight."

* * *

Don sighed as he glanced impatiently at his watch – two hours had long since come and gone with no word from Danny. Pressing his cell phone to his ear, he grew increasingly frustrated as he heard the voicemail pick up yet again.

"Damn it, Messer, I can't cover for you much longer," he growled into the phone. "I don't wanna go to Mac without an explanation, but you ain't exactly leavin' me with a whole lotta options here."

Flipping the phone shut, Flack tossed it onto his desk and leaned back, pressing his palms to his eyelids as he tried to quell the ache he felt building rapidly in his head.

"Detective Flack?"

The timid female voice caused Flack to jump slightly in his chair, startled by the unexpected interruption. Spinning around, Don was surprised to see Kelly Harrison standing in front of him.

"Kelly," he said softly, quickly standing up to greet her. "What are you doing here?"

"You said that you would call when I could see Ryan," Kelly said, her voice quivering slightly. "I know it's only been a few hours, but I just thought…I know you're busy, so maybe you forgot? I'm probably jumping the gun here, I just…I really need to see him, Detective Flack."

"Come on," Don said, motioning for her to follow him. "I'll take you down myself."

"Thank you," Kelly nodded. "Is there…well, have you found Jimmy yet?"

"Not yet, but we're working on it," Don assured her.

"If I can help in any way…" Kelly said, following Don into the elevator.

"I do have a few questions that I'd like to go over with you at some point," Don said.

"Anything," Kelly said, clearly eager to help in some way.

"Would your brother-in-law and his wife know that your daughter called James Kendall 'Uncle Jimmy'?" Don asked.

"Of course," Kelly said. "They've known James longer than I have; they were there the day we baptized Jane with him as her godfather."

"Alright, there's one thing that's been botherin' me, then," Don said. "Can you think of any reason that they'd deny knowin' who she was talkin' about?"

"I'd be surprised if Matt did," Kelly said. "I suppose if he thought that Emma was somehow involved and finding James would connect them, he _might_ cover for him to keep her out of it. For the kids' sakes, of course, not for hers."

"Not for her?" Don asked in surprise.

"Lord, no," Kelly shook her head. "He certainly doesn't love her now, and I'm not convinced he ever did. He's a good guy, though, which is why he won't leave her. Ryan says it's also the only reason Matt agreed to marry her when she told him she was pregnant. I guess it's just too bad they didn't have home paternity tests back then."

"Why?" Don asked.

"Matt and Emma both have blue eyes," Kelly said. "Emma's oldest child is a beautiful brown eyed daughter."

"So?" Don asked in confusion.

"You don't know much about genetics, do you, Detective?" Kelly asked.

"I leave that stuff to our lab guys," Don admitted.

"Well, eye color is a pretty complicated trait," Kelly said. "But basically, two blue eyed parents can never produce the appropriate genetic combination for anything other than a blue eyed child."

"Got it," Don nodded. "So he wasn't even the kid's father? Does he know that?"

"I don't know," Kelly shrugged. "Ryan knew; he knew that Matt was probably not the father of any of their four children, actually. But Matt loves those kids, and there never seemed to be any point in telling him – it would only have hurt him if he didn't know. But Matt's not a stupid guy, Detective, I'd be shocked if he didn't at least suspect something."

"What about Emma?" Don asked. "Why would you say she might be involved?"

"Let's just say Emma's youngest son looks suspiciously like James Kendall," Kelly said. "Jimmy's a playboy and Emma would fall anything that breathes and gives her jewelry. They were a match made in hell, off and on for probably five or ten years, I don't know. They were very good at hiding it, but I think Matt was starting to suspect."

"How did you find out?" Don asked.

"I'm obnoxiously observant and good at reading people," Kelly said. "I always have been."

"Is that so?" Don asked curiously.

"Take you, for instance," Kelly said. "On a personal level, you're grieving a recent loss, you're angry at the world and having trouble reaching out for any sort of help. On a professional level, there's something you want to ask me, but it's something you're not sure you want the answer to, so you're putting it off, which is why we're still talking about Matt and Emma instead of what you really want to talk about."

"Damn," Don muttered. "You could take that show on the road."

"What is it you wanted to ask me?" Kelly asked curiously, pausing as they stepped off the elevator and waited for Don to answer.

"It's not important now," Don said, glancing down the hall at the entrance to the morgue. "We can deal with it later. C'mon, we'll let them know you're here to see your husband."

* * *

"He's so…he's so pale," Kelly gasped as Sid pulled back the sheet covering her husband's body. "Can I…is it alright if I touch him?"

Don glanced questioningly across the table at Sid, who nodded.

"Go ahead," he said sympathetically. "We've finished trace."

Kelly hesitated slightly before reaching a hand out and touching his cheek.

"He's so cold," she whispered, not even noticing as Don silently stepped away, motioning for Sid to do the same, knowing she needed some semblance of privacy in her final moments with her husband.

"Hey sweetheart," Kelly said softly, leaning over slightly and slipping one hand into her husband's cold one. "I just…you know I love you, right? I'll always love you, Ryan, no matter what. This isn't…this is not how it was supposed to be, babe. You ruined me, you know that? I was fine on my own, just me and Janie, and then you came along and now…now I don't think I can do this alone, without you…"

Shaking her head as the tears gathered in her eyes again, Kelly leaned in and gently kissed him on the forehead. "Goodbye, Ryan…I love you, forever and always," she whispered, slowly easing herself away from the table and turning back to face Don and Sid.

"Are you ready?" Don asked.

"Yes," Kelly nodded, turning briefly to Sid. "Thank you, Dr. Hammerback."

"Of course," Sid nodded, patting her gently on the arm, trying not to dwell too long on the heartbreaking reality this young woman – younger than his own daughter, he thought ruefully – was now forced to face.

As he followed her out of the morgue and back into the hallway, Don contemplated just how to go about asking her about any possible connection she might have to Lindsay. Turning toward the elevator to guide her back up to the main precinct and the interrogation rooms, they both stopped suddenly as the doors to the elevator opened and Lindsay and Danny stepped out.

"Mandy," Lindsay breathed, a sad smile crossing her lips as she finally came face to face with her sister. Taking a step forward, her smile faded as Kelly quickly stepped back and flinched away from the hand she extended.

"No," Kelly said forcefully, shaking her head. "No, you can't be here, Lindsay. Why are you here?"

"I work here," Lindsay said. "I saw Janie yesterday and I…"

"Stay away from my baby," Kelly interrupted. "Just stay away from my family, Lindsay."

"Amanda, please," Lindsay pleaded. "Can't you just hear me out? I want to help, we all do."

"We?" Kelly asked skeptically.

"My brothers and I," Lindsay clarified.

"Right," Kelly scoffed. "The Monroe brothers want to ride in and save the day. I've got news for you, Lindsay – you're all too late. Maybe ten years ago I needed you to save me, but you were all too busy trying to find a way that you wouldn't have to know me, to even look to really see me. And now it's too late, because I don't need saving anymore, Lindsay."

"Mandy, it wasn't that we didn't want to know you," Lindsay began.

"I don't care, Lindsay, I don't care what excuses you use," Kelly interrupted again. "I don't give a damn how you justify to yourself; I looked up to you, I turned to you and you turned me away. Don't think you can just swoop in now and try to ignore all of that. If you want to help me, you can start by leaving me the hell alone!"

Turning on her heel to walk down the hall toward the other set of elevators, leaving a devastated Lindsay and a stunned Danny and Flack staring after her, Kelly made it about three steps before coming to a sudden stop, grabbing her side as she reached for the wall to support her and doubled over in pain.

"Mandy!" Lindsay screamed, instantly at her side, her heart sinking at the look of fear and horror on her little sister's face as Mandy clung desperately to Lindsay's hand. "Danny, call an ambulance! Now!"


	7. Missing You

"I…I can't do this," Lindsay said, her hand shaking as she dropped her pen, not even flinching as it bounced off the edge of the clipboard, hit her knee and fell to the ground.

"Hey, I know it's hard," Danny said, reaching down to grab the pen before returning to his seat next to his wife. "But I'm sure the doctor is doing…"

"No, you don't understand," Lindsay interrupted, shoving the clipboard and the paperwork attached to it into Danny's lap. "_This_, Danny, I literally cannot do this. I can't answer a single one of those questions. Not one."

"I'm sure that's not true," Danny said gently. "Let's just start with…"

"Danny, I can't tell them if she's ever had surgery," Lindsay said. "I don't know if her first pregnancy had complications, I don't know if she's allergic to anything, if she's ever had a broken bone, none of it. I can't even answer the first question."

"Lindsay, the first question is her date of birth," Danny pointed out.

"I know that," Lindsay snapped. "And I can't answer that, because I don't know, Danny. I know she was born in 1988, I'm pretty sure it was January, but beyond that, I don't know. What sort of a horrible person doesn't even know her own sister's birthday?"

"Lindsay, you are not a horrible person," Danny assured her. "You were just a kid."

"I could have been better," Lindsay said. "I _should _have been better, Danny. That whole sheet, it's things I should know. I could fill it out without thinking twice for you, or for Lucy, or for any one of my brothers. I should be able to do it for my sister, but I can't."

"I don't really know what to say here, Montana," Danny admitted, wrapping an arm around her waist and scooting her a little bit closer on the hard plastic bench. "I think you're being too hard on yourself. You were twelve years old, you wouldn't possible be expected to handle things differently."

"But I grew up, Danny, I wasn't twelve the whole time. I grew up and she still needed me," Lindsay said. "And I still wasn't there; none of us were there. There was so much we should have seen, so much we should have done…but we were too busy living our own lives. And now it's too late; you saw her back at the precinct – she hates me, Danny."

"I don't think she hates you, Lindsay," Danny assured her. "She's angry, but did you see the way she was holdin' onto you back there at the morgue? You just gotta give her some time – think about the position she's in."

"What do you mean?" Lindsay asked.

"Someone she trusted enough to make her daughter's godfather just shot her husband in cold blood," Danny pointed out. "She's five months pregnant, facing single motherhood for the second time in her life; she's got to be worried about Janie; she just lost a guy she clearly loved. That's a lot for anyone to deal with, Lindsay – and I'm sure seein' you was as much of a shock to her as anything else."

"She's twenty-one years old," Lindsay said, shaking her head. "She should be in college, having fun with her friends, not five months pregnant and in an emergency room."

"I know," Danny sighed, kissing Lindsay gently on the forehead. "I know."

"Ms. Monroe?"

Lindsay practically bolted out of her seat at the sound of the doctor's voice, turning anxiously to face him in the center of the room.

"Is she alright?" Lindsay asked. "What's going on?"

"She's resting now," the doctor said. "We'll be moving her up to the maternity floor shortly. I'd like her to stay overnight for observation, but that's really just a precaution at this point. Her blood pressure was extremely high, and it doesn't appear that she's been eating recently, so her blood sugar was quite low – the combination of those two factors likely triggered the pains she was experiencing. With some rest, she should be just fine for the remainder of her pregnancy."

"Thank God," Lindsay sighed, leaning back against Danny in relief.

"She's asked to see you," the doctor said.

"Me?" Lindsay asked skeptically.

"Go, Linds," Danny whispered encouragingly. "Talk to her."

* * *

"Hey, you," Lindsay said softly, standing nervously in the door of Kelly's room.

"You can come in, you know," Kelly said. "I'm not running this time."

"I don't want to intrude," Lindsay said, taking a few hesitant steps into the room.

"Lindsay, for God's sake, just get your butt in here," Kelly said impatiently. "If I didn't want you to come in, I wouldn't have asked for you."

"Right," Lindsay nodded, pulling up a chair next to the bed. "So, uh, the doctor said you should be fine. That's good news."

"Yeah," Kelly agreed. "Just avoid stress and no heavy lifting. Hey, it's not like I have anything to stress about, right? Or, you know, a four year old to take care of."

"You could let me help you," Lindsay suggested. "I know you hate me, Mandy, but I could help…or I could call someone? A friend? Helen, maybe?"

"Did you grow up in the same universe that I did?" Kelly asked skeptically. "Even if she were still alive, hell would have to freeze over before I let my mother anywhere near my family."

"Helen's dead?" Lindsay asked in surprise.

"Has been for about seven years," Kelly said.

"I'm sorry," Lindsay said. "I didn't know."

"How could you?" Kelly asked. "We were living in Los Angeles at the time."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?" Lindsay asked hesitantly.

"She shot herself," Kelly said. "She was drunk, no surprise there. She got pissed off about one thing or the other and had the gun out…I don't know if she really intended to shoot herself or not, but that's what she did."

"Why didn't you call?" Lindsay asked. "You were just a kid, Mandy…social services should have at least called Dad."

"I never saw social services," Kelly admitted. "I called 911, grabbed my bag and took off before the cops arrived. No way was I letting them put me in a foster home."

"They would have sent you back to us, not to a foster home," Lindsay insisted. "And if not Dad, then to me, Tommy, Lucas, Peter, Evan…any one of us would have taken you in, sweetie, you would have been more than welcome."

"Maybe I would have, maybe I wouldn't have been," Kelly shrugged. "But what in the eleven years I spent living barely two hours from all of you was supposed to convince me that you wouldn't turn your backs on me?"

"I guess we weren't exactly what siblings are supposed to be, were we?" Lindsay agreed sadly. "I'm so sorry, Mandy…I don't know what else I can say beyond that."

"Don't apologize, Lindsay," Kelly said. "It is what it is; you can't change the way you acted back then. And yeah, I think you all screwed up with me, and a big part of me wishes that I could change that – but what else would I be changing? I wouldn't have ended up on the streets, but I never would have had Janie, either, and that little girl is my whole world, Lindsay. And maybe I wouldn't have had so much heartache, but if I'd stayed in Montana, I never would have fallen in love with Ryan. I can't even imagine a world in which I would never have Ryan and Jane."

"I still wish I'd been better," Lindsay said. "There's so much I should have seen, Amanda…so much you went through that never should have happened."

"Hey, it wasn't all bad," Kelly said. "I mean, yeah, some of it sucked. But we had a few good times stuck in among all the bad ones."

"Did we?" Lindsay asked skeptically.

"Well, that's how I remember them, anyway," Kelly said. "Even that last weekend I spent with you…it didn't end well, but a lot of it was really fun."

"I guess I usually just think about the way it ended, but we did have a good time that weekend, didn't we?" Lindsay agreed, a slight smile crossing her face as the memories of those two days flooding back into her mind…

_Lindsay sighed impatiently as she leaned back against the hood of her car, glancing down at her watch before crossing her arms over her chest, shivering slightly against the cold late March chill. After what seemed like hours to her, the doors of the building across the street swung open and a stream of children began filing out and hurrying across the snow-covered yard to their waiting rides._

_Straightening up, Lindsay stood high on her tiptoes and craned her neck as her eyes scanned the crowd. Finally, just when she was beginning to worry that she'd missed her, she spotted a flash of the familiar red hair at the back of the crowd. She was walking slowly, all alone and slightly removed from the other children, one hand clutching tightly to an old backpack slung over her shoulder, the other hanging loosely in a sling. Lindsay immediately recognized the long winter coat she was wearing as the same one her sister-in-law, Katrina, had dragged Lindsay out to buy just before Christmas. At the time, she'd thought it was a ridiculous gift, and she'd been certain to tell Kat as much too. They lived in Montana, she'd reasoned. Getting a decent winter coat at the start of the season was as vital for a child as getting a vaccine as an infant, but who needed two?_ _After all, Lindsay remembered pointing out, it wasn't as though Helen had no money to purchase a coat. Lindsay was certainly aware enough to know exactly who those checks her father wrote every month were sent to._

_As she watched Amanda struggle to adjust her patched up backpack, though, Lindsay wondered if perhaps Kat hadn't been quite so far off when she'd not so subtly suggested that Helen wasn't appropriately utilizing those child support payments._

"_Amanda!" Lindsay called out, waving her arm in the air to catch the girl's attention._

_Lindsay couldn't help the slight smile that crept onto her face as she watched the way Amanda's whole face lit up at the sight of her older sister standing across from her school. Breaking out in a huge grin, Amanda hurried across the street, dropping her backpack and throwing her arms around Lindsay's waist as soon as she was close enough to reach._

"_Well, hi there," Lindsay said, pulling back in amusement. "I guess you're glad to see me, then?"_

"_Of course I am," Amanda said. "I didn't know you were coming, Lindsay."_

"_That's the point of a surprise," Lindsay said._

"_What are you doing here?" Amanda asked curiously._

"_I came to see you, silly," Lindsay said. "I thought it might be fun if you came down to my place and we had a little sleepover, then tomorrow you could come hang out with me at work."_

"_Really?" Amanda asked in awe._

"_Yes, really," Lindsay said, reaching out and grabbing Amanda's backpack. "Now, I didn't get a chance to your mother first and ask her permission. Is she picking you up?"_

"_No, I usually walk," Amanda said._

"_You walk in this weather?" Lindsay asked skeptically, glancing up at the storm clouds in the sky and back at the little girl in front of her._

"_It's not so bad," Amanda shrugged. "I walk pretty fast."_

"_Well, maybe we can swing by your apartment and talk to her there before we head back to Bozeman," Lindsay said._

"_She won't be there," Amanda said. "Besides, Helen won't even notice that I'm not there; don't worry about it."_

"_Are you sure?" Lindsay asked hesitantly._

"_Yup," Amanda nodded eagerly, pulling open the door of Lindsay's car and slipping into the passenger's seat. "Come on, Lindsay, let's go!"_

_Laughing at her sister's enthusiasm, Lindsay shook her head, tossing the backpack into the backseat and hurrying around to the driver's side door._

"_Alright," she said, slipping into the front seat. "Let's get this show on the road, little monkey."_

* * *

Danny closed his eyes as he sat in the quiet hospital room three floors above where Lindsay and Amanda were slowly reconnecting, listening in stillness to the steady beeps of the machines crowding the space around the head of the bed.

"You know what freaks me out the most, Stel?" he asked eventually, opening his eyes and leaning forward to take her hand. "None of this really bothers me anymore; the hospital, the sterilization, the damn beeping…it's all starting to feel normal, and that ain't right. This can't be our normal, Stella, it can't be. Today, when we came in with Lindsay's sister, I swear to God the ER nurses were starting to recognize me."

Danny shook his head and leaned back again in his chair.

"You didn't know that, did you?" he asked. "That Lindsay has a sister? See all the stuff you're missing? I guess if it makes you feel better, I didn't know until today, either, so it wasn't just you. I get the feelin' there's a whole big story there, but it ain't really the time to be askin' her all about it, I guess. Especially not since her sister's husband was my vic from yesterday's big case. Worst thing about all of this…I think her brothers are flying out. I'm tellin' you, Stella, I kinda wish you were gonna be here for this, because then maybe I could hide behind ya, you know? They don't like me real well, so if I don't stop by for a while, you think you could maybe wake up to save me?"

Danny chuckled slightly to himself as he sat up once more.

"Too much to ask?" he mused. "Still, it couldn't hurt to ask, right? Look, I know I ain't even been here that long, but I gotta go, Stel – I just wanted to stop by and say hi while I was, you know, in the building. I gotta run to pick Lucy up and then I gotta go flash my badge and see if I can't get Lindsay's niece, too – I know, more family I didn't know about. Maybe I'll bring Lucy up later; I know she sure misses her Aunt Stella…we all do, Stella, we miss you so much."

Danny sighed as he eased himself out of his chair, leaning over slightly to gently kiss Stella's cheek and squeeze her hand before straightening up again.

"You take care, Stella," Danny whispered. "Come back to us soon, okay?"


	8. Strength

**A/N: **Just when my ankle starts to heal up, we end up not being able to spend much time outside, anyway - I just can't win, can I? We're far enough away from the fires here in CA that we haven't been evacuated, but the wind has blown all the smoke in our direction - there was a thick pile of ash on my car this morning when I left for work and we have to keep the windows closed or it blows in that way! The air quality is just awful right now; on the plus side, though, that means more time for writing! Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

"God, it feels like that weekend was a lifetime ago," Lindsay sighed.

"It was," Kelly said. "I was eleven…a completely different person than I am now. You were twenty-three, fresh out of the police academy, your whole life ahead of you…and look at you now, living in New York City. Brian must have gone nuts when you moved away."

"He didn't like it, but he's gotten used to it," Lindsay said. "Why can't you call him Dad, Mandy?"

"Same reason I haven't called Helen 'Mom' in years," Kelly said. "I don't have parents, not really. Can you name one fatherly thing Brian Monroe's ever done for me?"

"I…well…" Lindsay stammered slightly as she struggled to think of something to offer.

"Lindsay, I get that he's your dad, and that he's always been a fantastic parent to you," Kelly said. "I'm not trying to take away from that, I'm really not. But your life is not mine, Lindsay, and as great as he was to you, we all know that the extent of his involvement in my life was signing checks that never made it to me anyway."

"I know," Lindsay said sadly. "I just wish…"

"Don't waste your wishes, Lindsay, I did alright without him," Kelly said, shaking her head with a sad smile. "Now, let's talk about something less depressing…tell me about that ring on your finger."

"Oh, this?" Lindsay blushed as she smiled and twirled her wedding band. "It's a ring, what do you want to know?"

"It's a wedding ring," Kelly said. "How long have you been married?"

"About six months now," Lindsay said.

"Tell me about the wedding," Kelly said. "I'll bet you and Greta had a blast planning some big splashy affair out on the ranch."

"Actually, Mom wasn't there," Lindsay said. "I got married down at City Hall…my husband surprised me with the ceremony the day before I was supposed to go home for a visit. I didn't even have a dress; our friends Mac and Stella were witnesses, and that was it."

"Why the rush?" Kelly asked curiously.

"We work together, so we've always kept things as quiet as we could, which meant that big and public wasn't exactly our style," Lindsay said. "Plus, we were in love and didn't want to wait…and I don't suppose it hurt that I was seven and a half months pregnant at the time."

"Wow," Kelly muttered. "Lindsay Monroe had a shotgun wedding. Interesting…very interesting. Has Greta started speaking to you again yet?"

"Yes," Lindsay said, pausing before smiling coyly. "We had a, uh, rather awkward visit right after the wedding…since then, it's been mostly single word answers, and mostly so that I'll send her pictures of her granddaughter, but yes, she's getting used to the idea."

"So you have a daughter?" Kelly asked.

"Lucy," Lindsay said. "She's about four months old now."

"That's a good age," Kelly said with a wistful smile. "That's right about when they start getting really alert and reacting to everything you do. Jane was absolutely hilarious at that age, always poking people in the face just to get a reaction. It's amazing how quick they grow, though…that feels like yesterday, but she's already four years old…almost five, actually."

"How did you do it?" Lindsay asked. "I mean, I'm thirty-two and there are nights when I'm sitting up with Lucy and wondering how the hell I'm going to manage…and I've got a husband and amazing friends and…you were sixteen and you didn't have any of that, did you? How did you get through?"

"I think you'd be surprised what you could do if you knew you didn't have any other choice," Kelly said. "From the moment that nurse put her in my arms, I knew I'd do anything for her…so I did. One day at a time – sometimes even one minute at a time. All you can do is keep breathing and moving forward and pray that you don't screw up too badly."

"What did you do for money?" Lindsay asked curiously.

"Well, contrary to what my _delightful_ sister-in-law walks around telling everyone, I was never a stripper," Kelly said.

"Oh, I didn't…" Lindsay began.

"It's okay if you thought that," Kelly interrupted. "I just wanted you to know, I didn't. I cleaned houses…I was lucky, I had some well-off clients, so I got a pretty good base built up pretty quickly. I still had to work twelve, sometimes fourteen, hours a day, but the money was enough for an okay daycare and food on the table. Of course, we'd still be basically treading water if I hadn't met Ryan."

"How'd you meet?" Lindsay asked.

"He saw me walking to the bus stop in the rain one afternoon and he offered me a ride," Kelly said. "I thought for sure he was going to kidnap me or at least proposition me or something…I didn't have a whole lot of faith in the male half of the species at that point. But he just wanted to help; he drove me to the daycare center to pick up Jane…he took us to dinner and I never looked back."

"He sounds like a really great guy," Lindsay observed.

"He's amazing," Kelly said sadly. "He was everything to me – just the best part of me, really. I didn't think it was even possible to love someone like that…I don't know how I'm supposed to do any of this without him now."

"Hey," Lindsay said softly, reaching out and rubbing Kelly's arm gently as she softly began to cry. "One day at a time, remember? We'll figure this out together; you're not alone this time, alright?"

* * *

Don Flack leaned heavily against the lamp post, his eyes slowly adjusting to the fading evening light as he stared at the door in front of him. A mere five, maybe six, feet separated him from the interior of that building – the closest he'd been in a month and a half.

After rushing Danny to the hospital while Lindsay accompanied her sister in the ambulance, he'd intended to return straight to the precinct and get back to work on the increasingly difficult task of locating James Kendall. Once Danny had sprinted from the SUV, though, he'd found himself almost involuntarily steering the car around the corner and into the nearby parking garage. He'd been standing there for several hours now, and as he watched the people streaming in and out of the building, he knew he still wasn't ready, but he knew it was time.

With a final breath of hesitation, he pushed himself away from the lamp post, slowly making his way through the automatic doors, strangely grateful that he didn't have to muster the strength to push them open himself. Looking back on the evening, Don would never be able to recall exactly how long it took him to make it from the entrance to the elevators and finally up to the fourth floor, but he wasn't certain he hadn't taken more than two or three labored breaths the whole time, as though his brain were afraid that sufficient oxygen would convince his body to turn around and leave.

"Can I help you?" a nurse asked, barely glancing up from the charts she was reviewing at the desk as he approached.

"Um, I'm lookin' for Stella Bonasera's room," Don said.

At the name, the woman finally looked up from her work, sighing as she reached to the other side of the desk, grabbing a clipboard and flipping several pages in.

"Name?" she asked.

"'Scuse me?" Flack asked in confusion.

"Your name," the woman repeated in annoyance. "Look, I don't care if you flip back that jacket and flash that badge at me. I got a list of approved visitors for that patient. If you ain't on it, you ain't goin' back. Now, name?"

"Don Flack," Don said.

Quickly scanning the list, the woman nodded and put the clipboard back to the side of the desk.

"Room 412," she said, pointing down the hall. "Down the hall, take the first right, second room on the left."

"Thanks," Don muttered, quickly heading off down the hall.

When he finally stood in the doorway of the stark white hospital room, he felt as though someone had sucker-punched the air straight of his gut. Her face was pale, practically the same shade as the terrifyingly clean sheets that she lay upon, contrasting sharply with the deep brunette curls that were splayed far too evenly across the pillow.

It was the machines that really got to him though. There had to be at least half a dozen of them, each hooked up to her in some different way, each emitting a steady, consistent beeping pattern. Even when Jess had been in this same hospital, he couldn't remember her having that many machines – logically, Don knew that the machines were a good sign, that he hadn't seen them with Jess because she hadn't lived long enough for there to be a need for such extensive monitoring, but nothing about that stopped them from frightening him anyway.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Don slowly covered the few feet between the door and Stella's bedside. His hands shaking, her slowly lowered himself into a nearby chair and took her hand in his.

"Hey," he said softly. "It's, uh, it's me…Don. Not really sure if you know that or not, so I figured I'd say that first. I'm not sure you even know I'm here, actually, but I guess it can't hurt to try, right?"

Don shifted nervously in his chair, never releasing his hold on her hand as he cleared his throat and leaned in closer.

"Maybe you do know, I don't know," he continued. "I hope you do. And if you do, I guess I should start with apologizin', right? I know, not somethin' a lot of people get to hear from me, 'cause you know how I feel about admittin' I was wrong. But see, this one time, this real smart friend of mine told me I was actin' like an ass and that there was nothin' wrong with lettin' a friend know when you screwed up and felt bad about it. And, of course, you were right, Stel…so I'm sorry."

Don sighed as he lifted her warm but lifeless hand, pressing it gently to his cheek for comfort before continuing on.

"I know I shoulda come sooner, I know that," he said. "Messer's right, you know – but if you tell him I said that, I'll swear on my Ma's grave you're lyin' – anyway, he says if you was awake, you'd kick my ass for not comin'…and you would. In a kinda twisted way, I really wish you would do that, 'cause least then you'd be back with us. I miss you, we all do…I guess you've heard it from everyone else already, but you gotta know, Stella, this ain't just 'oh, we miss you, come back soon' sort of stuff. With Jess gone…well, it's like there's this hole in the team, in all of us, and it's gettin' bigger every day that you're gone too. I'm not sayin' you gotta fix everything, Stel, 'cause I know you can't bring Jess back, but I just…I'm scared, Stella. I don't know what to do anymore – with Jess gone, I'm kinda just barely holdin' my head above water, you know? If you…if we lose you too…I don't know, Stella, I just don't know if…"

Don's voice trailed off and he sprang to his feet, dropping Stella's hand to the bed as he listened in horror to the rapid acceleration of the steady beeping that had filled the room since he entered, the knot in his stomach tightening as that noise was very shortly drowned out by the sound of a loud alarm.

"Stella!" he called out desperately, finding himself suddenly being pulled from her side by a nurse as a half dozen or so medical personnel flooded almost immediately into the small room.

"Sir, we need for you to wait outside," the nurse said as she gently but forcefully guided Don out of the room and into the hallway.

"No, I need…I can't…oh God, not now…" Don stammered helplessly, staring in shock at the flurry of activity visible through the open door.

"Sir, as soon as we know something, you'll know," the nurse assured him, placing her hands on his shoulders and forcing him into a nearby chair. "But please, just give the doctors some space to work."

Satisfied that Don wasn't going anywhere, the nurse turned and hurried back into the hospital room, closing the door behind her, leaving Don slumped down in the hallway chair, praying silent prayers that this hospital wasn't about to become the site of yet another terrible memory.

* * *

"There's my baby," Lindsay said with a smile, standing up as Danny walked down the hall with Lucy balanced on one hip, her carrier in his other hand.

"Yup, here I am, and I brought Lucy, too," Danny deadpanned, grinning slightly as Lindsay smacked him playfully on the shoulder, quickly taking Lucy from his arms as he set the carrier in an empty chair.

"And it looks like you found yourself a new friend," Lindsay said, a bit of surprise in her voice as she spotted the small red-headed girl slowly peaking her head out from behind Danny's legs.

"Figured I'd stop by the hotel, see if she wanted to come see her Ma," Danny said, reaching around behind him and placing a comforting hand on Janie's back. "Flashed my badge at the sitter Kelly hired; I paid her and sort of told her I was Janie's uncle."

"Well, technically you are," Lindsay said, kneeling down in front of Janie, careful of the fact that Lucy was now resting on her hip. "Hi sweetie, do you remember me?"

Janie stared at Lindsay for a moment, hesitating before nodding quickly and immediately turning to shyly bury her head in the back of Danny's knee.

"Yesterday she wouldn't even speak to you," Lindsay marveled. "How'd you get her to trust you enough to come all the way down here with you?"

"I gave her a cookie," Danny shrugged. "And I promised her I was takin' her to see her mommy. Other than that, I didn't do much. Speakin' of which, where is your sister?"

"They're moving her up to the maternity ward," Lindsay said. "I just didn't want to leave here until you got back. I didn't want you to worry."

"Well, here we are," Danny said. "Should we head up?"

"Yeah, I…" Lindsay began, pausing as her cell phone began buzzing at almost the exact same time as Danny's.

Frowning, Danny and Lindsay both pulled out their phones, flipping them open and glancing up at each other in stunned horror as they read the same text message from Don.

_911, Stella, now._


	9. Wait and See

"Shouldn't we know something by now?" Lindsay asked, shifting Lucy to her other hip as she nervously paced up and down the hallway near where Don was seated, Danny at his side with a comforting hand on his shoulder while Janie fidgeted in her seat next to him. Mac, who had shown up just a few minutes after Danny and Lindsay, stood a bit removed from the group, his arms crossed tightly against his chest as he leaned against the wall.

"It's only been about fifteen minutes," Danny pointed out. "Maybe not hearing anything is a good sign?"

"Detectives?"

Four eager faces turned almost instantly toward the sound of the voice, finding themselves face-to-face with Stella's neurologist.

"Dr. Sullivan, is she alright?" Lindsay asked anxiously, holding Lucy just a little bit tighter as she waited for the answer.

"We did have restart her heart, but all her vital signs are good at the moment," Dr. Sullivan said. "Now, I can't entirely explain why this happened the way it did, but it isn't wholly unheard of for the electrical stimulus of the defibrillator to act as a trigger of sorts – it's a horrible analogy, but it seems to occasionally work a bit like jump-starting a depleted car battery."

"What are you saying?" Danny asked in confusion.

"She's awake," Dr. Sullivan said, a small smile coming to his face as he watched the relief on the faces before him.

"Can we see her?" Mac asked eagerly.

"Not quite yet," Dr. Sullivan said. "I've ordered a few more tests to determine exactly what's going on internally. After I get the results of those, I'll make a decision on whether or not to keep her intubated. Once we know more about what condition she's in and either make the decision to continue to have her on the respirator or we go ahead and extubate her, then you can see her – but only one at a time, and only for a few minutes each."

"How long will that all take?" Mac asked.

"At least an hour, possibly two or maybe slightly more," Dr. Sullivan said.

"What sort of tests are you running?" Lindsay asked. "I mean, you said she was awake now. That's what we've been waiting for, right? This means she's going to be alright?"

Dr. Sullivan sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck and look apologetically at Lindsay.

"I wish that were guaranteed, Detective Monroe, I really do," he said. "Believe me, you have no idea how much I wish that things worked like Hollywood would have us all believe. Unfortunately, this is real life, not an episode of _ER _or _Grey's Anatomy_; in real life, people don't just wake up from a six week coma the same way they'd wake up from an afternoon nap."

"What does that mean?" Danny asked.

"It means, don't walk into that room expecting her to be back exactly the same as she was prior to the coma," Dr. Sullivan cautioned. "Waking up is the easy part. Recovery from an injury like this one is a long, slow process – when I say that she's awake, I mean that her eyes are open and she's responding to basic stimuli. Beyond that, we won't know until the tests are complete."

"I don't get it," Flack said. "What are you sayin'? That she's awake, but she's not gonna be Stella, she's not gonna be the same?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying," Dr. Sullivan said. "Look, some patients recover fully in a matter of months. For others, recovery requires extensive long-term physical and occupational therapy, with no guarantee of a complete return to the life they lived before. Right now, there's no way to know which category Detective Bonasera will fall under. All we can do is wait and see."

* * *

"There you are," Kelly said as Lindsay walked into her hospital room a few minutes later, Janie clinging to her hand. "I thought maybe you got lost or something."

"Just had to make a stop on the way up," Lindsay said, smiling as Janie instantly released her hand when she saw her mother and went sprinting across the room to the bed.

"There's my little monkey," Kelly smiled, patting a space next to her hip. "Climb on up here, baby."

"Mommy, are you sick?" Jane asked in concern. "Is my baby brother sick?"

"No, sweetie, Mommy and the baby were just a little tired, so the doctors are going to let us stay here tonight," Kelly said. "And remember what we talked about? Mommy doesn't even know if you're getting a baby brother or a baby sister, so don't get yourself too set on a brother, okay?"

"I told you, Mommy, I _know_," Jane assured her. "I talked to him, he's a brother."

"Janie…" Kelly said cautiously.

"No, listen, Mommy," Jane instructed, placing her hands on her mother's stomach and bringing her face close to it. "Baby, are you there? Baby, are you a brother or a sister?" Pausing, Jane pressed her ear to Kelly's stomach, waiting a few moments before smiling broadly. "See, Mommy? It says it's a brother!"

"I see," Kelly laughed, reaching out to stroke Janie's hair. "Now, how did you get up here from the hotel, sweetie? Did the sitter bring you?"

"No, Uncle Danny picked me up," Jane said.

"Who?" Kelly asked in confusion.

"Oh, um, my husband," Lindsay explained. "He had to use his badge and tell the sitter he was her uncle to get her to let Janie leave with him. I guess she heard him and picked up on it…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It's alright," Kelly assured her. "I'm sort of surprised she was so okay with that; she doesn't always take well to new people right away."

"Danny's a charmer," Lindsay said with a tiny grin. "He always has been, especially when someone doesn't take to him right off the bat. I think he sees it as a challenge."

"I'm getting the feeling you were a challenge for him," Kelly said.

"I was," Lindsay agreed. "Some days, I think he'd argue I still am, I suppose."

"What did you think, monkey?" Kelly asked, turning her attention to Janie. "Did you like Uncle Danny?"

"He talks lots," Janie shrugged, snuggling up next to her mother and resting her head on her shoulder.

"Is he cute?" Kelly asked mischievously. "Did your Aunt Lindsay pick herself a good one?"

"Mommy, he's old, he can't be cute," Jane pointed out.

"He's my age," Lindsay said defensively. "He's not old."

"Oh, don't be offended, Linds," Kelly laughed. "She's four, remember? _I'm_ old in her eyes."

"Which is a scary thought, seeing as I'm twelve years older than you," Lindsay pointed out.

"So, when do I get to meet this husband of yours?" Kelly asked. "And your daughter?"

"Whenever you want," Lindsay said. "I wasn't sure you'd want to, so I didn't bring them up now, but they're both here, I can have them come up whenever."

"You're just making them hang around the hospital while you're here with me?" Kelly asked.

"Oh no, they're down on the second floor, long term care," Lindsay said. "One of our coworkers, a good friend of ours, she's down there right now. I think we've spent more time at this hospital in the last six weeks than we have at home, actually."

"What happened to your friend?" Kelly asked.

"There was a shooting," Lindsay said. "We were at a local bar, a cop hangout…I guess we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was a whole group of us, but only Stella and I got shot."

"You got shot?" Kelly asked in concern.

"Like my daddy got shooted?" Janie asked.

"A little bit, sweetie," Lindsay said.

"But you're not dead," Janie pointed out.

"No, I'm not," Lindsay agreed. "The doctors, they got to me very quickly and they saved me."

"Good," Janie nodded, putting her head back on Kelly's shoulder and turning away from Lindsay.

"You're alright, though?" Kelly asked. "Really?"

"Really," Lindsay assured her. "I was in the hospital for about two weeks, but I'm fine…back at work and everything."

"How long ago was that?" Kelly asked. "I'm almost surprised Greta isn't still hovering, with the boys in tow and everything."

"Well, the boys didn't make it out – by the time they'd worked out their time off work, it was clear that I was going to be fine, so Mom told them not to come," Lindsay said. "But Mom and Dad were here for about three weeks, helping with the baby and generally poking their noses everywhere they didn't belong."

"I guess some things haven't changed," Kelly said. "So have the boys met your husband yet?"

"Well, he's still alive and hasn't gone screaming into the night yet," Lindsay said.

"I'll take that as a no, then?" Kelly said with a smirk.

"He doesn't have much longer, though," Lindsay said. "Tommy and Kat should be landing any minute now, actually."

"Landing where?" Kelly asked.

"JFK," Lindsay said.

"They're coming here?" Kelly asked in surprise. "Why?"

"For you, silly," Lindsay said with a grin. "I swear, they were halfway out the door by the time I hung up the phone with them this morning, when I called to tell Tommy that you were here."

"Why would they do that?" Kelly asked.

"Because they've missed you, and they want to see you," Lindsay said. "You're family, Mandy, even if we didn't always act like it, you're family."

* * *

"Detective Taylor?" Dr. Sullivan said, drawing the attention of the three men sitting silently in the waiting room. In the hour since the doctor had informed them that Stella was finally awake, Don and Mac hadn't moved from their respective spots in the cold plastic chairs. It hadn't taken long for word to spread among the department about the change in Stella's condition, and even Mac didn't say a word when Adam Ross silently joined the waiting room vigil about twenty minutes later, well before the end of his shift. Danny had stepped away only a few minutes before, the unceasing screams of his daughter forcing him into the hallways for a few minutes of pacing to calm her down.

"How is she?" Mac asked, his heart in his chest as he anxiously waited for whatever news the doctor was about to deliver.

"All the tests came back showing strong neurological activity," Dr. Sullivan said. "At the moment, there's no reason to think that she'll have any permanent, long-term neurological damage."

"Thank God," Mac sighed.

"We've gone ahead and extubated her," Dr. Sullivan said. "At the moment, she's sleeping – just sleeping, not comatose. When she wakes up, that will be when we can truly assess what sort of neurological symptoms we may be dealing with."

"But you just said she'd fine," Mac pointed out.

"No, I said there was no reason to expect any permanent damage," Dr. Sullivan said. "However, there are many aspects of the brain that we still fail to fully or even partially comprehend, and there are always cases where things don't turn out as we expect. And I haven't even gotten to the temporary impairments…"

"What sort of impairments?" Flack asked impatiently. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that although the we've had positive signs, we still don't know what to expect when Detective Bonasera wakes up again," Dr. Sullivan explained. "There will be difficulties when she does, I can almost guarantee that. She'll be confused, most likely her speech will be limited because of the intubation and the lack of use of her vocal cords. She will most likely have some temporary memory issues, particularly in forming short-term memories – things like remembering the date, where she is, recent conversations."

"But she'll, uh, she'll know who we are, right?" Adam asked anxiously. "I mean, she'll remember everything else…she'll know who she is?"

"There may be some gaps, yes," Dr. Sullivan said. "She most likely won't remember the shooting, possibly even that entire day or week could be lost to her. I wouldn't expect her to have lost more than a few weeks or a month, though. However, I will warn you that the one constant in dealing with these sorts of brain injuries is that we have to expect the unexpected."

"Can we see her now?" Mac asked.

"One at a time, yes," Dr. Sullivan said.

"You go, Mac," Flack said almost immediately. "She'd want to see you first."

"Alright," Mac nodded, clapping Adam gently on the shoulder to reassure the young man as he walked past, quickly making his way out of the waiting room and down the hallway to Stella's room.

"If she wakes up while you're in there, just try not to excite her," Dr. Sullivan said. "We'd like her to stay as calm as possible."

Mac nodded silently, moving past doctor and into Stella's room, feeling strangely relieved and less burdened when he saw the significant decrease in the number of machines hooked to her slender frame. Walking slowly to her side, he smiled as he took her hand and her eyes fluttered open.

"Hi there," Mac said gently. "Welcome back, Stella."

"M…Mac?" Stella asked in confusion, her voice hoarse and weak.

"I'm here," Mac assured her.

"What happened?" Stella asked slowly, struggling to get each syllable out in her strained voice.

"There was a shooting," Mac explained briefly. "You're at the hospital."

"Oh," Stella nodded, still looking extremely confused. "Why are you here?"

"What do you mean, why am I here?" Mac asked, echoing a bit of Stella's confusion. "I'm here for you, Stella. You didn't think I wouldn't be here, did you?"

"You…no reason," Stella said. "I don't…were you there? At the shooting?"

"Yes, I was," Mac said, not quite understanding Stella's apparent confusion and distress at his presence.

"Mac?" Stella asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

"Yes?" Mac asked eagerly, lifting Stella's hand slightly and squeezing it gently.

"Not that I don't…don't appreciate your company, but it's just…is…is Claire coming to see me?" Stella asked, her hand falling hard to the bed as Mac's grip loosened in shock at her question.


	10. Past Tense

"Dr. Sullivan?" Mac said hesitantly, interrupted the conversation the neurologist was having with a nurse just outside of Stella's room.

"Detective Taylor, is something wrong?" Dr. Sullivan asked, concerned at the tone of Mac's typically stoic voice.

"She has amnesia," Mac informed him.

"Detective, I did warn you that she might have difficulty remembering things," Dr. Sullivan cautioned. "With this sort of injury, it isn't uncommon for people to lose several weeks, perhaps even a few months in rare occasions."

"What about eight years?" Mac asked.

"Eight years?" Dr. Sullivan repeated in surprise. "Are you certain?"

"At least that long," Mac said. "I suppose it could be more, actually."

"How do you know?" Dr. Sullivan asked. "Did she say something specific?"

"She asked…she asked when Claire was coming to see her," Mac admitted with a bit of difficulty.

"Who?" Dr. Sullivan asked.

"My wife," Mac said, leaning heavily against the wall. "She died in the World Trade Center attacks. Stella and I, we weren't all that close, not before Claire died…Stella was Claire's best friend, so she was my friend, but when my wife was alive, Stella would have expected to see Claire here long before me if she'd been injured."

"I see," Dr. Sullivan nodded. "Well, unexpected things do happen with these types of injuries."

"This is just temporary, right?" Mac asked. "She's going to remember soon?"

"Well, there was no physical trauma apparent on her scans, which is a promising sign in cases of memory loss," Dr. Sullivan said cautiously. "Of course, that doesn't mean there couldn't be damaged areas too small to appear on our scans. The brain is a tricky organ, Detective Taylor, and much of it we still don't have any understanding of. I wish I could give you a definitive prognosis, be able to tell you if _x _happens, then _y_ will happen in three days, but it doesn't work that way."

"Can you tell me anything, then?" Mac asked in frustration.

"In light of this new development, I would like to run a few more tests," Dr. Sullivan said. "I'd also like to get a consult from a colleague of mine who has significantly more experience in dealing with patients with this type of memory loss. She'll be able to offer a better picture of how to handle and treat Detective Bonasera."

"How long will that take?" Mac asked.

"Several hours, at least, but probably more," Dr. Sullivan said.

"And in the meantime?" Mac asked. "Can I see her again? Can my team see her?"

"I'd recommend against it," Dr. Sullivan said. "Am I correct in assuming that ten years ago, Detective Bonasera wouldn't have known any of them?"

"I suppose not," Mac agreed.

"Then until I have a better handle on the extent of her memory loss, I'd rather not risk it," Dr. Sullivan said. "I'm not afraid of them upsetting her, but at this point, we need to determine her exact memory loss before anyone accidentally slips details about her life to her."

"Is that a bad thing?" Mac asked. "I didn't say much to her, but shouldn't she hear as much as possible in case something triggers her memory?"

"Not at first, no," Dr. Sullivan said. "Her memory, if it does return, will likely do so in fits and spurts, not all at once, and it's important that we be able to know that those are actually her memories returning."

"What else would they be?" Mac asked.

"Patients with amnesia know that they're supposed to be remembering things," Dr. Sullivan explained. "Their brains sometimes go into a bit of overdrive in an effort to find those memories again. If the patient is given too many details about the time they've lost, the brain has been known to, on occasion, create false memories around those details. Even though they aren't real, these memories can seem exceedingly real to the patient – as a doctor, I need to know when she's recovering her own memories, rather than wondering if they're being fabricated by the brain to match what she does know about the last few years of her life."

"That makes sense," Mac nodded. "So we're just supposed to wait around again?"

"I'd suggest you go home and get some sleep, Detective," Dr. Sullivan said. "I'd suggest all of you do that. We won't know much more until tomorrow morning, anyway."

_

* * *

Knock. Knock._

Kelly set down the remote on the side of her bed and glanced up at the doorway, half expecting to find one of the Monroe brothers – her brothers, as much as she still was uncomfortable referring to them that way – hovering in the doorway, almost feeling guilty at the relief she felt when she didn't see them there.

"Hey kid," Matt Harrison said nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he glanced up from his shoes to look at his sister-in-law.

"Matt," Kelly said softly. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Yeah, well, I heard you'd been brought here and I figured I oughta come by, make sure you and the baby were alright," Matt shrugged. "'Sides, you know Ryan would kick my ass if I let you stay here alone, Kel."

"Yeah," Kelly nodded sadly. "He would have."

"Woulda, yeah," Matt said, correcting himself. "Don't really know how to get used to that whole past tense thing. I keep thinkin' he's gonna come through the door any minute now, laughing about…"

"…How he pulled the greatest practical joke ever and we all fell for it, hook, line and sinker," Kelly filled in knowingly, shaking her head as the tears welled in her eyes. "I know, I do too."

"I heard you went to see him," Matt said, taking a few tentative steps into the room.

"I had to," Kelly said. "I had to see it myself…see that it _wasn't_ just some big, sick prank. And even with that, it doesn't feel real. None of it seems possible."

"I know," Matt said sympathetically. "I…I had just talked to him an hour or two earlier. He got lost on the way to Millie's Bakery with Janie…we only grew up walkin' there every Sunday, don't know how he managed that one."

"Ryan could get lost walking a straight line," Kelly said with a quick laugh. "You know that as well as I do, Matt."

"Yeah, I do," Matt agreed.

"Hey Matt?" Kelly asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, Kel?" Matt asked.

"Why did you lie?" Kelly asked, turning to look him in the eye as his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Lie about what?" he asked.

"Jimmy," Kelly said. "They told me you and Emma said you didn't know who Janie's 'Uncle Jimmy' was. Why did you lie?"

"I didn't," Matt said, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. "Emma did most of the talkin' last night…to be honest, I don't remember half of what they asked, I was just tryin' to get my head around my baby brother really bein' gone. And when she said she didn't know him…by the time I realized what she had said, they'd moved on to other questions. I don't know why Emma wouldn't say, but it didn't seem like that big of a deal."

"Do you even know why they wanted to know?" Kelly asked in frustration.

"I figured Janie was askin' for him," Matt shrugged. "I know Ryan said they were gonna have dinner sometime during the trip."

"Did you know that Janie saw it?" Kelly asked. "She saw Ryan get shot…she saw the shooter, Matt."

"No, I didn't know that," Matt said. "I'm sorry, Kel…she shouldn't have had to see anything like that. Is she okay? Where is she?"

"She's pretty shaken up…it'll take time, but she'll be okay," Kelly said. "My sister took her to get something to eat. Matt, she says she saw Jimmy shoot Ryan."

"She what?" Matt asked in shock.

"Janie told the detectives that 'Uncle Jimmy' shot Ryan," Kelly explained. "That's why they were asking about him."

"Oh my God," Matt muttered. "Kelly, I swear, if I had thought for a second he had something to do with this…"

"You would have said something, I know," Kelly nodded. "But Matt, I know Emma's your wife and all, but…"

"She had no reason to lie," Matt said knowingly, taking a deep breath as he shook his head. "I know, Kel, I know."

"It doesn't make any sense," Kelly said.

"Unless…" Matt's voice trailed off as a horrified look crossed his face and he sank into the chair near Kelly's bed. "Shit."

"What?" Kelly asked in concern. "Matt, what is it?"

"She knows something," Matt said. "Emma knew that Jimmy was involved; otherwise, why not just tell that detective who he was?"

"But how would she know?" Kelly asked.

"Well, I know you know they were having an affair; I think everyone knows that," Matt said.

"You knew?" Kelly asked in surprise.

"I'm not completely blind, Kelly," Matt said. "I've overlooked a lot in my marriage, but that doesn't mean I didn't see it."

"I'm sorry," Kelly said.

"Yeah," Matt nodded sadly. "You know, it sounds crazy, but these last couple of years, I was a little jealous of Ryan."

"Why?" Kelly asked. "Because of the money?"

"Not the money," Matt shook his head. "No, Ryan's had money for a long time…I didn't care about that. If I'd cared about having money, I would have never joined the NYPD. I've got a roof over my head, food on the table for my kids…I've got everything that I need, financially speaking."

"So what was it you were jealous of?" Kelly asked.

"You," Matt said.

"Me?" she asked skeptically.

"Well, not _you_ specifically," he clarified. "But his relationship with you. He was head over heels for you, Kel, and you felt the same way about him. We all thought it was some sort of midlife crisis, some fling he'd get over in a few months, but the longer you guys were together, the happier you got. Do you have any idea how rare that is? How lucky he had to be to find that?"

"No," Kelly shook her head. "I was the lucky one, Matt. Ryan was the first person to ever make me feel like I was loved completely and unconditionally…the first person I really and truly thought was never going to leave me."

"You know if he'd had any choice…" Matt began.

"I know," Kelly said. "He never would have left."

"No, he wouldn't have," Matt agreed, noting the way Kelly bit down on her lower lip to hold back tears as he placed a comforting hand on hers. "Kel, have you cried for him yet?"

"I can't," Kelly insisted. "I've got the baby, and I've got to hold it together for Janie, and there's all this family crap that's about blow in here, and then there's the investigation, and I…"

"Hey," Matt interrupted gently, carefully moving Kelly's hand and taking a seat on the side of her bed. "The baby is going to be fine, Kelly. Janie's not here right now, and whatever family you're dealing with, if you don't want them around, you just tell me and I'll kick 'em out on their meddlesome asses, got it? But you need to cry, Kelly…you can't hold it in, and you don't have to be strong for me."

Matt took Kelly's meek nod as a sign of encouragement, reaching out and pulling her into his arms, his grip tightening as the tears came hard and fast, her whole body shaking as she finally let her guard drop completely.


	11. Just A Thought

Stella let out a low groan as she fought to open her eyes again, squinting against the pain in her chest as she forced herself awake one more time. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she frowned at the sight of a petite blond woman standing nearby, her back to Stella as she read through a chart.

"Who are you?" Stella asked, barely recognizing the sound of the weak, scratchy voice that come from her throat.

"Oh, you're awake," the woman said, smiling as she turned to face Stella. "That's excellent."

"Who are you?" Stella repeated.

"I'm Dr. Hart," the woman said.

"Are you my doctor?" Stella asked in confusion.

"One of them, yes," Dr. Hart said. "Dr. Sullivan is heading up your case, but he asked me to help out with a consult because of your injuries."

"I see," Stella said, nodding slightly. "What…what exactly are my injuries? I know there was a shooting, but was it bad?"

"From what I've heard, yes," Dr. Hart said. "You took a bullet to the shoulder, and one to the head."

"That would explain the headache," Stella said.

"Well yes, unfortunately that's to be expected," Dr. Hart said, smiling sympathetically. "The surgeons were able to remove both bullets, though, so that headache shouldn't be permanent."

"Good," Stella said. "Because it isn't pleasant."

"No, I don't suppose it is," Dr. Hart agreed. "I'll see about getting your pain medication increased now that you're awake. In the meantime, do you feel up to answering a few questions?"

"I suppose so," Stella agreed.

"Can you tell me the name of the president?" Dr. Hart asked, pulling out a notepad and taking a seat next to Stella's bed.

"Is this one of those brain function tests?" Stella asked, wondering why the doctor was starting with such mundane and simple questions. "I'm not brain damaged."

"Just humor me," Dr. Hart insisted.

"Fine," Stella agreed reluctantly. "The president is Bill Clinton."

"What year is it?" Dr. Hart asked, her face not betraying any reaction to Stella's answer.

"2000," Stella said.

"Where do you work?" Dr. Hart asked.

"I'm a police officer," Stella said. "I work for the NYPD."

"In what capacity?" Dr. Hart asked.

"I'm an investigative officer with the AES," Stella said. "That's the Arson Explosive Squad if you aren't familiar with it."

"What's the last thing you remember doing before you woke up here?" Dr. Hart asked.

Stella frowned at the question, her brow furrowing as she struggled to recall a specific memory that seemed to be her last.

"Are these questions really necessary?" she asked in frustration, unable to settle on a single event.

"It's normal to be having some trouble remembering specifics," Dr. Hart assured her. "Particularly in cases such as yours."

"What do you mean, cases like mine?" Stella asked in confusion.

"Stella, are you aware that you've been in a coma?" Dr. Hart asked.

"No," Stella said, her distress rising as she tried to wrap her mind around what was going on. "How long?"

"You were out for six weeks," Dr. Hart said.

"Is that why I can't remember things exactly?" Stella asked.

"Stella, I really need to ask you a few more questions before we keep going," Dr. Hart insisted gently.

"Alright," Stella sighed. "Go ahead."

"If I were to say the name…" Dr. Hart paused and flipped back a page in her notebook for a moment. "…Lindsay Monroe, does that name mean anything to you?"

"I don't think so," Stella said, her brow furrowing in confusion again. "It sounds a little familiar, but not really."

"How about Danny Messer?" Dr. Hart asked.

"I don't know," Stella said in frustration. "It sounds familiar too, but I just don't know."

"It's okay," Dr. Hart assured her. "What about Don Flack?"

At that name, Stella rolled her eyes and groaned slightly. "Senior or junior?" she asked.

"Um, I'm not sure," Dr. Hart admitted. "I wasn't aware there were two of them."

"Unfortunately, there are," Stella said with a slight grimace. "Don Flack, Sr. is a captain up at the two-seven. Just between you and me, he's a real jerk, one of those old school, chauvinistic types. Don't get me wrong, the man's an excellent cop, but he's also a real pain in the ass who thinks the worst thing that ever happened was when the NYPD decided women could be cops."

"And the other?" Dr. Hart asked.

"Don Flack, Jr.," Stella said. "He was a class or two behind me at the Academy, I think. I only know him in passing; he went to the armed robbery task force after graduation and we've only worked one or two cases together. He's got the makings of a good cop, lots of promise and not just because of the family name. And he's a nice enough guy – a bit of a player, but he really needs to work on his pick-up lines."

"Well, this is good," Dr. Hart said, jotting down a few notes in her notebook.

"Could you just tell me why you're asking me all these questions?" Stella asked. "I don't understand what's going on."

"There's never really an easy way to say this," Dr. Hart said, sighing as she closed her notebook and set it on her lap. "Stella, I was asked to consult on your case because I specialize in cases of memory loss."

"You're here to help me remember the shooting?" Stella asked.

"Not exactly," Dr. Hart said. "Chances are, you're never going to remember the shooting. Stella, do you know what retrograde amnesia is?"

"I don't have amnesia," Stella said. "Things are just…fuzzy, I guess. I've been in a coma, I'm just not completely recovered yet, that's all."

"You're nowhere near recovery, I'll agree with you on that," Dr. Hart said. "Stella, what I'm going to tell you is not going to be easy to hear, but I need you to stay calm, alright?"

"Okay," Stella said, nodding in confusion.

"Stella, it's 2009," Dr. Hart said gently. "Today is August 2, 2009."

"That's impossible," Stella said, shaking her head in disbelief. "This is some sort of joke, right? Rodriguez and Myers put you up to this, didn't they? I swear to God, I'm gonna kick their asses when I get out of this place."

Dr. Hart stayed silent, reaching behind her for the television remote and flipping to CNN, waiting for Stella to register the date stamp in the corner of the screen.

"Oh my God," Stella muttered. "No…I knew…I could feel I was forgetting something…but nine years? I don't understand…is this permanent?"

"Most likely, no," Dr. Hart assured her. "Amnesia is a tricky thing, of course, and there are no definite answers when we're dealing with the brain, but yes, chances are you'll get most of your memory back."

"When?" Stella asked.

"That's a little trickier to predict," Dr. Hart admitted. "It will probably come in spurts, sometimes in dreams, sometimes you'll be talking with someone or you'll see something that triggers a memory, other times they'll just crop up out of nowhere and you'll know something without any sort of flashback incident."

"So what do I do?" Stella asked.

"For now, you just rest," Dr. Hart said, patting Stella's arm as she stood up. "It's the middle of the night, try to get some sleep. We can talk more specifics at a better time of day."

* * *

"Are you sure you're going to be alright with both of them?" Lindsay asked anxiously, carefully buckling Lucy into the car seat in the back of Danny's SUV.

"We'll be fine," Danny assured her, adjusting the strap on Janie's seatbelt before ducking out of the backseat and closing the door, making his way around to the other side of the car.

"Are you sure?" Lindsay asked again. 'I mean, how are you going to get them both from the car up to the apartment?"

"Hey, I got them here, didn't I?" Danny asked. "Trust me, Montana, we'll be fine. I'm inordinately talented, you know – I can use _both_ arms at once."

"You think you're so funny, don't you?" Lindsay smirked, whacking him gently on the arm.

"I know I am," Danny grinned. "Just think of this as good practice for me, alright?"

"Practice for what?" Lindsay asked.

"You know, someday down the road, when Lucy's got herself a little brother or sister," Danny said.

"Says the man who won't have to give birth to said brother or sister," Lindsay said, glaring at Danny just a bit.

"Just a thought," Danny shrugged. "We'd better get goin', though – it's already eleven and I want to get the little munchkins in bed before they wake up and get cranky again."

"Call me when they're settled in, okay?" Lindsay asked.

"Of course," Danny assured her, leaning over to kiss her softly. "We'll be fine. I'll bring them back first thing in the morning, I promise. And you – make sure you get some sleep tonight, okay? Get those nurses to bring you a cot, I don't want you sleepin' in a chair in that hospital room, it ain't good for you, 'specially not when you're still healing."

"I know, I know," Lindsay sighed. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me. Tommy and Kat landed a few minutes ago, so they'll be here soon and trust me, they won't let me sleep in any chairs."

"Right," Danny nodded. "Will you be offended if I mention that I'm a little glad I'm not going to be there when your brother gets here?"

"A little," Lindsay said. "I still don't understand why you don't like my brothers, Danny. You haven't even met them; just give them a chance."

"Tell them that," Danny said. "Last time I answered your phone, Tommy threatened to kill me and feed my body to a grizzly bear. And the others weren't any better."

"You know they don't really mean that, Danny," Lindsay sighed. "They're just being overprotective, that's all. It's in their DNA."

"Right, well you make sure Tommy knows that killing the husband is off-limits before I bring the girls back in the morning, alright?" Danny asked.

"I promise, the only one killing the husband will be me the next time you forget to take the trash out again," Lindsay smirked.

"I swear, it was one time," Danny groaned as slipped into the driver's seat and reached out to close the door. "One time and you'd think the world was gonna end."

"Night, Danny," Lindsay laughed, shaking her head as he leaned through the window and kissed her quickly before revving the engine and carefully backing out of the parking space.


	12. Flashes

"Where's Janie?" Kelly asked in concern when Lindsay walked into her room alone.

"Danny took her back to our place," Lindsay said. "Don't worry, she'll be fine, he'll bring her back in the morning. This just isn't exactly the best place for a kid to stay the night, and Danny needed to get Lucy home anyway."

"He didn't have to do that," Kelly said. "I could…"

"I know," Lindsay interrupted. "But just for a little while, pretend you don't hate us and let your family take care of you, okay?"

"I don't hate you, Lindsay," Kelly said wearily.

"I know, I know," Lindsay sighed. "You just hate how we behaved."

"Can you blame me?" Kelly asked. "Lindsay, I was a little kid. All I wanted was someone to notice me, to take care of me, to listen to me…and what did I get?"

"A pretty raw deal," a male voice said from the doorway.

"Lucas," Lindsay said with a soft smile, turning around to face her brother.

"Hey kid," Lucas grinned, stepping into the room and embracing Lindsay.

"Where's Tommy?" Lindsay asked.

"Right here," another male voice said, stepping in behind Lucas.

"You didn't tell me you were bringing Luke," Lindsay said, letting go of one brother and moving to hug the other.

"You know how I love surprises," Tommy shrugged.

"I heard he was coming out here and I did the whole 'be a pain in the ass until he agrees I can come' thing," Lucas said, looking behind Lindsay to see Kelly lying in the hospital bed. "Wow."

"What?" Kelly asked in annoyance.

"You looked different, Mandy," Lucas said.

"What, were you expecting an eleven year old kid still?" Kelly asked.

"Well, not exactly," Lucas said. "But I wasn't really expecting a grown woman with a baby on the way, either."

"I'm twenty-one, Lucas," Kelly said.

"Exactly," Tommy said. "These days, that's practically still a kid, and yet here you are, with one on the way."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a kid," Kelly said. "I haven't had that luxury for a long time, so that's probably what you're seeing."

"What are trying to say?" Lucas asked. "That you didn't have a childhood?"

"Do you think I did?" Kelly asked. "You were there for part of it, Lucas. Do you really remember much of a childhood for me? That you saw?"

"I guess not," Lucas admitted. "I mean, yeah, we were pretty much jackasses when you were at Dad's…"

"Hey now, speak for yourself," Tommy interrupted.

"No, he's right," Kelly said. "You were selfish jerks to me, I won't argue with you on that point."

"She's not sugarcoating anything," Lindsay pointed out.

"So we weren't exactly the greatest brothers," Tommy admitted reluctantly. "That doesn't mean you didn't have a childhood – we were only around for a few weeks a year, remember?"

"You are such a damn idiot," Lindsay sighed.

"What?" Tommy asked innocently.

"Just lay off it, and I'll explain it to you later," Lindsay said.

"Well, fine," Tommy grumbled. "Am I at least allowed to ask what's up with the weird name change?"

"I didn't like it," Kelly shrugged. "You got a problem with that?"

"Well, yeah, kind of," Tommy said.

"Well, you'll just have to kind of get over it," Kelly said. "I was tired of being Amanda Monroe, so when I moved to Nashville, I became Kelly Montgomery, and then I got married and became Kelly Harrison. It's pretty simple, really."

"Nashville," Lucas repeated. "Is that where you went when you disappeared?"

"What do you mean, disappeared?" Kelly asked.

"Well, you were there, and then all of a sudden you weren't," Lucas said. "That's disappearing in my book."

"We didn't disappear, we moved," Kelly said. "It isn't like you all had no idea where we were."

"Of course we didn't," Tommy said. "How would we? One summer, Helen just didn't show up to drop you off for your visit. No warning, no phone calls, nothing. Kat drove up to Great Falls to make sure everything was alright and you two were gone. Landlord said you guys split in a pretty big hurry, didn't leave any sort of forwarding address. What, were we just supposed to psychically figure it out?"

"Brian knew," Kelly said.

"No he didn't," Lindsay said. "Dad would have told us, he was just as confused as anyone when you didn't show up."

"Really?" Kelly asked in disbelief.

"Yes, really," Lindsay said.

"That's funny, because he sure knew where we were well enough to address the checks he was sending Helen every month," Kelly said.

"He what?" Lindsay asked in shock.

"You didn't really think that Helen would have walked away from her main source of income, do you?" Kelly asked with a dry laugh. "No matter how badly she needed to get away from whatever dealer she owed, no way was she giving up those checks by not sending him our new address."

"Dad knew?" Lucas asked in surprise.

"I just figured you all did," Kelly said. "It's not like there are that many secrets in the Monroe family – you people are creepily close most of the time."

"Not this time, it seems," Tommy said.

"It's not like it mattered," Kelly said. "It's not as if any of you were going to come visit or anything like that."

"Now, that's not fair," Tommy interrupted, his voice rising just a bit. "You don't get to just sit there and pretend like this is all our fault."

"Um, Tommy…" Lindsay began hesitantly.

"No, I'm serious, this isn't fair," Tommy insisted.

"Don't you dare," Kelly practically hissed. "Don't you dare waltz in here after these years, now, and lecture me on what's fair. Don't you…"

"You don't get to play the victim all the time, Amanda," Tommy said. "It's not…"

"Hey!"

Turning around, Lindsay, Tommy and Lucas came face to face with a very irritated nurse, her hands on her hips as she stared them down.

"What on earth is going on in here?" the nurse asked. "We can hear you all the way down the hall. This is a hospital, in case you hadn't noticed. We have patients here who need their rest – including Mrs. Harrison here."

"We were just…" Tommy began.

"Nope," the nurse interrupted, shaking her head. "I don't want to hear, because I don't care. Now, the three of you are leaving, and I don't want to see any of you back here before the start of visiting hours tomorrow morning."

"But I…" Lindsay began.

"Did I not just say I don't want to hear it?" the nurse asked. "Was I unclear? All three of you, out! Mrs. Harrison will probably be released tomorrow, but only if you all let her get some rest. This isn't a social club, it's a hospital. Now out, all of you!"

"I'll be back first thing in the morning," Lindsay said, turning to face Kelly.

"I'll be fine, Lindsay," Kelly assured her. "Give Janie a kiss for me, okay? Tell her I'll see her in the morning."

"I will," Lindsay agreed, reluctantly picking up her purse and following her brothers out of the room.

* * *

Stella grimaced in pain as she shifted slightly in her bed, utterly exhausted and yet unable to fall asleep, the doctor's words weighing heavily on her mind. She could feel the memories somewhere in her mind, tantalizingly close but still just beyond her reach.

There was so much that she knew they weren't telling her, so many questions she knew they wouldn't answer. A lot could happen in nine years – and apparently had, if her small glimpse of her life so far had been any indication. She desperately wanted to remember, but at the same time, something in her was terrified of exactly what it was she was going to remember. All her dreams for the future, all her plans – something told her that when she remembered, she wasn't going to find a future that fit in with anything she had expected.

Stella wouldn't call what was keeping her awake actual memories. They were more like flashes – a bit of an image here, a smell there, a sound or a glimpse of a face that popped into her mind and disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. Everything was out of context, everything was jumbled. She wondered if this was how it would always be, struggling to fit together hundreds of mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow made up her life.

Sighing, she leaned her head back into the pillow, shutting her eyes again and attempting to will herself to sleep, hoping that maybe in her dreams things would start to fit together…

_She was running. Stella wasn't sure what – or maybe who – she was running from, but she was running, and she was running hard, willing her body to move faster through the streets, to cover more ground, to get closer._

_And as she continued to run, gasping for air as the smell of smoke grew stronger with each block she covered and the ash fell thicker and harder around her, it dawned on her that she wasn't running _from_ anything – she was running _to_ something._

_Rounding the final corner on the path toward the familiar buildings she knew so well, Stella glanced up to find a sight that knocked the wind right out of her. There in front of her, pillars of smoke billowed out from the upper floors of the towers, blocking the sun and sending shivers down her spine._

"_Stella!"_

_Turning toward the familiar male voice, it didn't take Stella long to spot the source and start running again._

"_Nate, what the hell happened?" Stella called out, rushing toward the van where her unit was setting itself up. "Dispatch said north tower, what the hell happened to the other one?"_

"_I've never seen anythin' like it," Nate said, shaking his head in horror. "Just a few minutes ago, it came outta nowhere…a second plane hit the south tower, Stel…I don't…Stel, there's no way this was an accident."_

"_Good God," Stella muttered, looking back up at the towers. "Nate…those towers are…do you remember those plans we looked at in that seminar a few years back…"_

"_From the '93 bombings," Nate nodded. "I was just thinkin' about those…I don't like what I remember, Stel…I don't want to think it, but…"_

"_Those towers are coming down," Stella said fearfully._

"_Boss radioed in with the same thought a few minutes ago," Nate said. "Orders are not to do a prelim, no sweeps, nothing…we go in, we get people out and we get the hell away the site. He figures we got a few hours at least before things start giving way, but there's a lot of people in there still."_

"_Let's get moving then," Stella said, grabbing her gear from the back of the van, turning back to face Nate as he grabbed her wrist to stop her._

"_Be careful out there, Stel," he said in concern. _"_I don't like the looks of this scene."_

"_I will," Stella assured him, quickly glancing around to make sure that all eyes were focused on the terrifying scene in front of them before leaning in, running a hand across his cheek and kissing him softly. "You be careful too, Nate, I don't want to go home alone tonight."__  
_


	13. Impressions

"Montana?" Danny muttered in confusion, sitting up as the door to their bedroom opened and slipped into the dark room. "What's wrong? I thought you were gonna stay the night with your sister?"

"My idiot brothers got us kicked out," Lindsay grumbled, slipping off her shoes and climbing into the bed, not bothering to take off her jeans and shirt before cuddling up next to Danny and resting her head on his chest.

"What'd they do?" Danny asked curiously.

"They're idiots," Lindsay said.

"Got it," Danny nodded. "Uh…how many brothers we talkin' about here?"

"Two," Lindsay said. "Tommy and Lucas. Katrina's sick, she's not allowed to fly right now."

"Only two," Danny mused. "Okay, that's okay. Lucas, he's the military one, right? Marines?"

"Army," Lindsay corrected.

"Right," Danny said. "He's the only one who didn't threaten to feed me to a bear."

"He didn't?" Lindsay asked in surprise.

"Nah," Danny shook his head. "He did remind me he could kill me with one hand tied behind his back, but he never said anything about a bear."

"Well, Lucas never really was a Montana boy," Lindsay said.

"How's that?" Danny asked. "Wasn't he raised there too?"

"Oh, I mean he was a Montana boy if you're just talking about where he lived, sure," Lindsay said. "But he hated Bozeman – hated going fishing, hated the thirty below Montana winters, hated everything we loved doing there. We always knew Lucas wasn't going to stick around after high school, and sure enough, he hightailed it out of there the week after graduation. After that, we hardly ever saw him…which is one of the reasons I was so surprised he was the one who came out with Tommy; I didn't even know he was on leave this week."

"And those other two didn't come?"

"They have names, you know," Lindsay pointed out. "But yes, Peter and Liam couldn't make it on such short notice."

"Okay," Danny nodded. "Can we go back to why they're idiots? I mean, I got my own theories, but…"

"Danny!" Lindsay exclaimed, mock indignation in her voice as she playfully slapped his chest.

"Sorry," Danny muttered with a little laugh. "So, what'd the boys do?"

"Tommy got us kicked out of the hospital," Lindsay said with a sigh. "I swear, he's a good guy, he just doesn't have a whole lot of self control when it comes to expressing himself – and unfortunately for him, he usually does it without having all the facts. He doesn't see why Mandy's the victim in all of this; he doesn't understand why she has every right to be angry about what she went through – hell, he doesn't even know _what_ she went through, and really, I think that's the biggest problem."

"What exactly is she angry about?" Danny asked cautiously. "I mean, I know your dad didn't exactly welcome her with open arms, but I get the sense there's more."

"She's angry we didn't save her," Lindsay said. "There was so much going on, so much we should have seen – _would_ have seen, if only we'd been able to look past just seeing her as this pest no one wanted around."

"I'm sure you would have done something if you could," Danny said. "You know that old saying, hindsight is twenty-twenty."

"When I was seventeen, on the first anniversary of the day…well, of the day my friends were shot, my parents were out and I…I broke into their liquor cabinet and got drunk off my ass," Lindsay said.

"Okay…" Danny said hesitantly, a bit confused about where she was going.

"I drank so much that an ambulance had to be called," Lindsay said. "I spent four days in the hospital."

"Good Lord, Montana," Danny muttered.

"I never did it again," Lindsay said. "And I'm not proud of it, Danny, but I was seventeen and I was hurting. I just wanted to forget, but as much as I drank, it just wasn't enough."

"Why are you telling me this?" Danny asked.

"Amanda was five years old at the time," Lindsay said. "She was the only one home that night. I would have died if she hadn't called an ambulance."

"Kids are good at that," Danny said. "They teach 'em 911 in kindergarten, you know."

"I've heard the 911 tapes, Danny," Lindsay said. "She wasn't even freaked out. She just told the operator, nice and calmly, that she needed an ambulance because her sister had alcohol poisoning. And then she listed off all the symptoms that I had. Danny, how many fifteen year olds do you know who could list the symptoms of alcohol poisoning, let alone a five year old? That should have been a big clue that something was wrong at home."

"I guess it is a little weird," Danny admitted.

"Or when I was studying for my exams at the police academy," Lindsay continued. "She used to look over my shoulder and correct my ten-codes. Kids aren't supposed to know how a cop calls in domestic violence, Danny."

"No, no they're not," Danny agreed.

"There were other things too," Lindsay sighed. "Bruises she couldn't explain, broken bones, she'd flinch when you touched her sometimes."

"Her mother was abusing her?" Danny asked.

"I don't know if it was Helen specifically," Lindsay said. "I almost think she couldn't be bothered to make the effort. But she had this ridiculous string of boyfriends, none of them any good. I think they did most of the damage."

"You can't blame yourself," Danny said.

"I can and I do," Lindsay countered. "I was older, it was my responsibility to look out for her, not the other way around. I should have seen it – hell, she tried to tell me but I didn't hear it. I didn't hear until I was looking back years later, and by then it was too late. And my brothers, they still don't see it."

"Have you tried telling them?" Danny asked.

"I shouldn't have to," Lindsay said. "They saw the signs too, they should have seen how much trouble she was in."

"Should have, sure," Danny said. "But guys are inherently stupid when it comes to picking up signs and hints, you know."

"Is that a fact?" Lindsay asked skeptically.

"I should know, I'm a guy," Danny said. "You know, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, trust me," Lindsay laughed, leaning over and kissing Danny softly. "I noticed."

"Hey Montana?" Danny asked as she settled in against his chest.

"Yeah?" Lindsay replied, stifling a yawn.

"You gonna put pajamas on tonight?" Danny asked. "Or at least take off those jeans?"

"Too much effort," Lindsay said, shaking her head and curling up closer to him. "Need to sleep, not be comfortable."

"Okay then," Danny said, reaching out to wrap their comforter around her shoulders and kiss her forehead before leaning back against the pillows so that they could both get a little rest.

* * *

"It seems like this is where I left you last night," Mac commented as he sat down next to Flack early the next morning, noting that the detective was still dressed in the same crumbled suit he'd been wearing the night before, the steam rising from his Styrofoam cup of coffee the only indication that he'd left his seat at all.

"Didn't really have anywhere to be," Flack shrugged, not looking up from his hunched over position.

"I figured you might at least head back to the precinct," Mac said.

"Overtime limits," Flack explained. "We can't all be department heads and approve our own time like you, Mac."

"No, I suppose not," Mac nodded. "Any word from the doctor?"

"Nothing," Flack said with a quick shake of his head. "He stopped by a few hours, but just to say that the new specialist would come talk to us in the morning."

"Right," Mac nodded solemnly.

"Anything new at the lab?" Flack asked, grasping for something to keep the silence from descending again.

"Just paperwork, but that never ends," Mac said. "You're the one with the big open case."

"Not too much open about it," Flack said. "Got me a slam dunk suspect."

"So what's the problem?" Mac asked.

"Can't find him," Flack said. "Guy's dropped off the face of the earth."

"Could he have an accomplice?" Mac asked. "Someone helping him hide?"

"Probably does," Flack agreed. "But I don't have a clue who that guy is. Plus, I'm still tryin' to wrap my head around a motive for this guy."

"I heard something about money," Mac said. "Is that not a factor?"

"Money's always a factor," Flack said. "Problem is, this guy sold his share of the company to our vic in a legit business deal over a year ago. Our vic sold the company the day he was shot, but the only one who profits from that deal is the widow. My suspect gains nothing from our vic dying, so unless he killed him 'cause he was pissed at missing out on the cash, I got nothing."

"We've seen people kill over less," Mac pointed out.

"I know," Flack sighed. "I just feel like I'm missing somethin' somewhere and I want everything to fit…this guy shot his best friend in cold blood right in front of his kid, Mac. I want to be able to nail his ass to the wall."

"You will," Mac assured him. "He'll make a mistake and we'll get him when he does."

"I guess…" Flack began, pausing as a woman approached the two of them.

"Detectives Flack and Taylor, correct?" she asked.

"Yes," Mac confirmed. "And you are…?"

"Irene Hart," the woman said. "I'm a neurologist on staff here. Dr. Sullivan has asked me to assist with Ms. Bonasera's case."

"Detective," Mac corrected.

"Excuse me?" Dr. Hart asked in confusion.

"That's _Detective_ Bonasera," Mac said.

"Right,' Dr. Hart nodded. "My apologies."

"How is she?" Flack asked.

"Physically, she's doing alright," Dr. Hart said. "She's in quite a bit of pain, but we're trying to manage that with increased medication. Mentally, she's had quite a shock to her system – the sooner she begins regaining her memories, the better."

"What can we do?" Mac asked.

"I'd like to slowly begin reintroducing her to familiar people and things," Dr. Hart said. "I'd like to bring in her family, her friends, coworkers, items from her home. Not all at once, of course, because we don't want overwhelm her. One or two per day, perhaps."

"So what do we start with?" Mac asked.

"I'd prefer to start with someone at least slightly familiar to her," Dr. Hart said. "Detective Taylor, I understand you've already seen Detective Bonasera?"

"Only briefly," Mac said.

"Nevertheless, I'd like to begin the process with someone she hasn't been in contact with," Dr. Hart said. "Keep things fresh, keep her mind stimulated. Detective Flack, I'd like to begin with you."

"Me?" Flack asked in confusion, looking skeptically at the doctor. "Why me?"

"Like I said, I'd like to begin with someone she's at least somewhat familiar with in the context of the memories she does have," Dr. Hart explained.

"Are you sayin' she remembers me?" Flack asked.

"She knew who you were when I mentioned your name, yes," Dr. Hart said.

"Exactly when does she think it is?" Flack asked.

"Mid-2000," Dr. Hart said.

"Right," Flack nodded, doing a bit of quick math in his head. "Yeah, um, no. Mac, you'd better take this one."

"Detective Flack, I can't stress how important this could me," Dr. Hart insisted.

"And I can't stress just how unlikely it is that she actually wants to see me," Flack said. "If she thinks it's 2000, that means she only remembers the first two or three cases we worked together."

"What's wrong with that?" Mac asked.

"I guess you could say we didn't exactly hit it off," Flack said vaguely.

"I still think a familiar face…" Dr. Hart began.

"Look, if you think it'll help her, I'll do it," Flack said. "I'll do anything you think will help, I will. But if you send me in there, just know that she's not going to see a friendly face, she's not going to see me as a friend, as a guy who cares about her. She's going to see…wait, what were her words that first time? Right, a 'self-righteous, egotistical jackass who isn't even _that_ good looking'."

At that, Mac was unable to hold back a short burst of laughter.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "It's not funny, it's just…I don't know, it's just so Stella."

"You don't sound surprised," Flack observed.

"Look, when I first met Stella, I believe her exact words were 'oh look, it's the pompous, overbearing jerk with narcissistic tendencies'," Mac said.

"She said that? To you?" Flack asked in amusement. "Okay, now that's a little bit funny."

"Detectives," Dr. Hart interrupted. "I need a decision."

"You really think it'd be better if I went?" Flack asked.

"I do," Dr. Hart said.

"Okay then," Flack nodded. "Let's do it."


	14. Are You Kidding Me?

"You're kidding me, right?" Stella asked in annoyance as the door to her hospital room opened and Flack stepped in.

"Well, hello to you too," Flack said. "Yeah, I'm doin' alright, thanks for asking. How're ya feeling?"

"You need to leave," Stella said. "Dr. Hart is supposed to sending in a few of my friends and colleagues."

"And here I am," Flack said.

"And just which of those two categories do you think includes you?" Stella asked.

"Both, I'd hope," Flack said, taking a seat in the chair by Stella's bed.

"I don't think so," Stella said with a small shake of her head. "No, definitely not."

"Look, I get it, you've got amnesia," Flack said. "You don't remember that we've been working together for four and a half years now. You don't remember that you got over the fact that I was an idiot when I was a rookie, and that there was actually a time when you thought of me as a friend. But here's the thing: I do remember, and I miss my friend, so could you maybe just drop the disdain and at least entertain the idea that a lot of things have changed in the last nine years?"

"I know things have changed," Stella said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. "We really work together? And I haven't killed you?"

"There were a few months when I first started at the Detectives' Bureau that I was a little worried," Flack said.

"You made detective four years ago?" Stella asked skeptically. "You must have been awfully young."

"Fourth youngest in department history," Flack said proudly. "Not that you seemed to care when we drew our first case together."

"Probably because I still remembered the first few cases we worked together when you were a rookie," Stella said.

"Hey, I was barely outta the academy," Flack protested. "And you might not remember, but I _did_ try to apologize way back then."

"Oh, I remember," Stella said. "If you can call that an apology…"

_Stella sighed as she rubbed the back of her neck, leaning heavily on the elbow she had resting on the desk in the back of the precinct. She'd been on shift for nearly forty-seven hours, and all she wanted to do was fill out the last few pages of her incident report, go home and not move for the next two days._

"_Officer Bonasera?"_

_Turning around, Stella didn't bother hiding her disdain as she found herself face to face with the young Don Flack._

"_What do you want?" she asked impatiently._

"_I was hoping maybe I could talk to you," he said, his hands twisting nervously in his pockets._

"_So talk," Stella said, turning back to her paperwork._

"_Here?" he asked in surprise._

"_Officer Flack, I'm tired, I'm on double-overtime and because of your shenanigans today, I have another half hour of paperwork to finish," Stella pointed out, not bothering to look up at him. "So yes, here, because I'm sure as hell not going anywhere except home after this."_

"_Right," Flack nodded. "Listen, about today…thank you."_

"_For what?" Stella asked. "Covering your mistakes? Pulling your ass out of the line of fire?"_

"_All of it, I guess," Flack said. "You kind of saved my life back there."_

"_Yeah, well, it would have been twice as much paperwork if I'd left you to die," Stella shrugged. "Not that it didn't cross my mind, of course."_

"'_Course," Flack nodded. "Look, I get that you don't think much of me as an officer, but…"_

"_You're young," Stella interrupted. "That's not your fault, and it's also not your fault that you're inexperienced. But you're also arrogant, cocky and you don't know what you don't know, which makes you dangerous in situations like today. That's not to say you don't have talent and aptitude for this work, because you do. In a couple of years, I'm sure you'll be a damn fine police officer, you're just not there yet."_

"_But you're always sayin' that you think I'm an idiot," Flack said. "If you think I can be a good officer…"_

"_Being a good cop has nothing to do with being an idiot," Stella said. "I think you're a self-righteous, egotistical jackass who isn't even that good-looking, but that has nothing to do with your police work, that's just you as a person."_

"_Wow," Flack muttered. "That's kinda harsh."_

"_Look," Stella said, setting down her pen and turning to face him again. "Can I give you a piece of advice, Officer Flack?"_

"_Sure," Flack shrugged._

"_You're going to spend the rest of your career dealing day in and day out with people who are going to judge you because they know your father, or at least know of him," Stella said. "Some of that is going to be good for you, but I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that most of them are going to be people like me who found your father to be a misogynistic pain-in-the-ass who should have been forced into retirement years ago."_

"_Hey now," Flack said defensively._

"_Just shut up and listen, because I don't really care if you agree with that assessment or not," Stella said. "The fact of the matter is, that's who your father was on the job, regardless of how you see him. It's better that you figure that out now and get used to it. I was willing to give you a chance that most of the rest of this department isn't, and that's to show me that you're different than that. And yes, you're a little nicer than him, but I see a lot of the same tendencies in you that made him such a difficult person to work with."_

"_So what, I'm just screwed?" Flack asked._

"_With me, yes," Stella said. "With the rest of this department, no. Consider this a heads-up, Flack. You can't just skate by on natural talent and your family name. If you want to be successful, you're going to have to work twice as hard as anyone else just to prove to everyone here that you are not your father, and that starts with respecting your coworkers – all of them, male and female. I'd suggest you start by ceasing to use the NYPD as your own personal dating service and start looking at your female colleagues as equals rather than potential conquests."_

"You were pretty harsh on me," Flack commented with a slight laugh.

"Well, it must have worked if you made detective so quickly," Stella said.

"I suppose it did," Flack agreed.

"So, we work together now?" Stella asked. "On a regular basis?"

"Yup," Flack nodded. "Pretty much every day. We're on the same team."

"I never thought you'd go back to arson," Stella said.

"Oh, I didn't," Flack said. "Trust me, me and fire and explosions just don't mix, and for more reasons than just the ones you remember."

"But then how…?" Stella began, pausing as the realization hit her. "I don't work on the AES anymore, do I?"

"No," Flack shook his head. "You made detective a year or so before I did. You're second in command at the Crime Lab now."

"I see," Stella nodded slowly. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Flack shrugged. "What's on your mind?"

"Do you know if Nate Callahan is still working AES?" Stella asked.

"Never heard of him," Flack said. "I can make a few calls if you want."

"I'd appreciate that," Stella said. "I just…I need to know."

"Can I ask why?" Flack asked.

"It'll sound stupid," Stella said.

"Try me," Flack insisted.

"It's just…I'm remembering things," Stella said. "They're not really complete memories, more like little flashes. But what I do see, I don't like. And Nate should be here, he's one of the people I would have thought would be here, even nine years later. I just – if he's not here, I'm kind of afraid he's dead, and I don't think I'd be okay with that."

* * *

"No, I want you to say it," Lindsay said, crossing her arms over her chest and staring her brother down outside their sister's hospital room.

"Lindsay, this is ridiculous," Tommy said.

"Say it or you're not going in," Lindsay insisted. "Both of you."

"Hey, I didn't do anything last night!" Lucas protested.

"I don't care," Lindsay said. "Say it or I'm not moving."

"It's not like I couldn't just move you myself if I wanted to go in," Tommy pointed out.

"Right," Lucas scoffed. "So that she can call Mom and tell her that we manhandled her while she was recovering from a gunshot wound? You really think that would go over well?"

"See, I knew you were the smart one," Lindsay said with a satisfied smile. "Now, I'm really not feeling like I want to stand here all day, so would you two just get off your high horses and say it?"

"Fine," Lucas muttered. "I promise to be on my very best behavior when I'm talking to Amanda."

"Good," Lindsay said. "Tommy?"

"I promise," Tommy agreed reluctantly.

"You promise to what?" Lindsay prompted.

"I promise to be on my best behavior when I'm talking to Amanda," Tommy said.

"And?" Lindsay asked expectantly.

"Lucas didn't have to say it all," Tommy protested.

"Lucas didn't get us kicked out yesterday," Lindsay reminded him.

"Fine," Tommy grumbled. "And I promise not to be an insensitive jackass."

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Lindsay asked, stepping back and opening the door so that the three of them could walk into the room.


	15. Come To Think Of It

**A/N: **Okay, so it has been forever since I have updated any of my stories - I'm so sorry to have left you all hanging! Updates will be coming on all my stories, hopefully with less of a delay this time around - I can't even begin to describe how insane life has been lately, but here's a good example: in the last four weeks (28 days), I have spent 23 days away from home and been on eight different flights. If I never see an airport again, it's not soon enough!

I desperately wanted to get an update up to get back into the swing of things, so I apologize that this is a tiny bit shorter than my chapter normally are.

* * *

Lindsay smiled as she and her brothers walked into Kelly's room and saw her perched on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in the same clothes she'd worn on her arrival at the hospital the day before. Danny was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room, a still-sleeping Janie curled up in his arms, Lucy resting at his feet in her carrier.

"They're letting me out today," Kelly announced. "Any minute now, actually."

"That's great, Mandy," Lindsay said.

"So where are you going?" Lucas asked.

"For now, back to my hotel, I guess," Kelly shrugged. "I don't think I'm cleared for flying yet and besides, that detective wanted me to stick around for a few days in case anything happened with the investigation."

"Well, uh, do you need any…well, any help with any of that?" Lucas asked nervously. "You know, with the hotel or the tickets or…?"

"Are you asking if I need money?" Kelly asked, smirking slightly at the cough that came from Danny's side of the room as he bit back his laughter.

"Trust me, she doesn't," Lindsay assured him.

"How do you know that?" Tommy asked. "It's not like she's working or anything."

"She doesn't need to," Lindsay said. "Tommy, Mandy's net worth is bigger than probably the whole state of Montana put together."

"There's no need to exaggerate," Lucas said. "If she doesn't need money, she could just say so."

"I don't need your money," Kelly said. "And she's not exaggerating. Before he was killed, my husband sold his company for two hundred million dollars."

"Damn," Tommy muttered. "Even split among investors, that's a hell of a chunk of cash."

"There were no investors," Kelly said. "He owned it outright; the only way anyone else got any money was if…"

"Amanda?" Lindsay asked in concern as her sister's voice trailed off and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh my God," she muttered.

"What's wrong?" Lindsay asked.

"I can't believe I didn't think of it before," Kelly muttered. "Lindsay, I know why Jimmy did it. I know why he killed Ryan."

* * *

"How is she?" Mac asked anxiously, springing to his feet as Flack walked into the waiting room.

"Well, she wasn't exactly thrilled to see me, just like I said she wouldn't be," Flack said, slumping into a seat across from Mac. "Mostly, she's confused, I think. Probably scared, too, but she'd never admit that."

"That's Stella for you," Mac said.

"It's weird talkin' to her," Flack said. "Because you're right, that's Stella. And she is still Stella in a lot of ways, but then at the same time, she's not, you know? Because there's so much that she's supposed to know, so much that she's supposed to have been through, and she doesn't have any of that."

"I wish we could tell her," Mac sighed. "I wish we could just sit down with her and tell her everything."

"I don't," Flack said with an emphatic shake of his head.

"Why not?"

"Are you kidding?" Flack asked in surprise. "You want to tell her about being a detective and working at the crime lab and her great apartment and all of that, I can get that. But think about everything else that comes with it, Mac – do you really want to be the one who tells her about Frankie Mala? Or about Aiden? Or Drew Bedford? Or…well, Jess?"

"I guess I didn't think of it that way," Mac admitted. "She has been through quite a bit, hasn't she?"

"We all have," Flack said. "And to be honest, I'm not sure I can really handle being around when she starts remembering those things."

"If she starts remembering," Mac corrected.

"When," Flack countered. "C'mon, Mac, you know Stella better than anyone. You know she's not about to back down until she remembers everything. Besides, she's already havin' flashes of stuff."

"She is?"

"Nothing specific, not really," Flack said. "Just bits and pieces of things. Whatever it is she's remembering, it don't seem pretty."

"What did she say?" Mac asked nervously.

"Not much, not anything that would give me a clue what she's remembering," Flack said. "She did ask about someone, though."

"Who?"

"Aw, shoot, what was his name?" Flack muttered as he wracked his brain trying to remember. "Nick…no, that's not it…it was definitely an 'n' name, I know that…"

"Nate," Mac said knowingly.

"Yeah, that's it," Flack nodded eagerly. "Nate Callahan. You know him?"

"Yes, I knew Nate," Mac said.

"_Knew_ him?" Flack asked in concern. "Is he…well, is he dead? Stella kind of thought he might be, and if that's what she's remembering…"

"No, Nate isn't dead," Mac shook his head. "Last I heard, Nate Callahan was very much alive."

"Good," Flack sighed in relief. "That's good. So, uh, who is he then?"

"Special Agent Nathaniel Callahan, FBI," Mac explained. "He heads up a special arson investigation unit within the bureau. They're based in D.C., but they consult with law enforcement across the country. It's a very highly regarded unit, mostly because of Nate's expertise."

"So why is Stella asking about some FBI big-shot?"

"Because nine years ago, he wasn't an FBI big-shot," Mac said. "Nine years ago, Nate Callahan was just another officer on the NYPD's Arson Explosives Squad."

"Where Stella used to work," Flack added, the pieces slowly starting to come together. "So this Nate guy was her partner, then?"

"Not at work, no," Mac said.

"So why was she asking about him, then? Why would she get so upset?" Flack asked in confusion. "If he was just a guy that she worked with…"

"Because Nate Callahan wasn't just another coworker," Mac said. "Until a few years ago, he was also Stella's fiancé."


	16. All That Matters

**A/N:** Alright, I was going to write one long chapter, but I really wanted to get something up before Christmas for you guys. So, I've split what I wanted to write into two parts. Merry Christmas!!

* * *

"Her what?!" Flack asked in complete shock. "Stella was engaged?"

"She and Nate were engaged for nearly two years," Mac nodded.

"How is this the first I'm hearing of him?" Flack asked in confusion. "Did it end badly?"

"I don't think broken engagements ever end well," Mac said. "But given the circumstances, no, I'd say it ended about as well as any relationship could. I suppose it helped that it didn't have anything to do with them not loving each other."

"Isn't that all that matters?" Flack asked.

Mac smiled sadly and shook his head at the younger detective. "I wish, Don, believe me, I wish it were that simple. When you've lost someone you love, it can be hard to see how you could need anything else, but sometimes, circumstances just get in the way, no matter how strong the love is…and what Stella and Nate had, it was pretty strong."

"So what happened?" Flack asked.

"Did you know that our Arson Explosives Squad used to be the best in the country?" Mac asked. "They had a ninety-two percent solve rate, and an eight-seven percent conviction rate – unheard of in law enforcement, as you know."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Flack asked in confusion.

"If you had a case today that involved an explosion, or a major fire, who would you call for help?" Mac asked.

"The feds," Flack said very matter-of-factly, pausing as he thought about his answer. "Oh, got it. Stella and this Callahan guy were on the AES when it was the best, and now it's not so great. I guess their breakup had something to do with the unit falling apart?"

"More like the other way around," Mac said. "The unit's destruction had everything to do with their breakup."

"How's that?" Flack asked.

"The AES had a reputation for being the best, but they also had a reputation for not always doing things, well, strictly by the book," Mac said. "When Giuliani was in office, it didn't matter – as long as the results came through, the administration didn't ask too many questions. After he left office, though…"

"The old changing of the guard," Flack said knowingly. "Yeah, I lived through that too, Mac. The new administration forced out every department head hired under Giuliani…well, everyone except you, I guess."

"Mike Rodriguez at the AES was the first to go," Mac said. "He was an easy target – truth was, he'd gotten away with more than anyone should have, and he'd done it for years. Problem was, he wasn't just the head of that unit, he was it's heart. Without him – and with the rules suddenly being strictly enforced, and every little violation getting written up – morale dropped and the unit started hemorrhaging good officers."

"The brass just let them transfer out?" Flack asked.

"Not surprisingly, no," Mac said with a dry smirk. "They thought if they blocked transfers, the unit would pick itself up and start functioning again. I guess they didn't count on the fact that this wasn't just another group of officers – it was a group of seasoned investigators who other agencies would snap up in a heartbeat. When word got out that the NYPD's AES had more than a few unhappy officers, you should have seen the way the headhunters started circling. Rodriguez left in January – by the fourth of July, almost a third of his officers were gone. By Labor Day, it was more than half."

"Including Nate Callahan," Flack guessed.

"Actually, no," Mac sighed, shaking his head with what Flack almost interpreted as regret. "Stella loved the NYPD; she couldn't see herself working anywhere else. When it became clear that things weren't going to get better at the AES, she came to me for help – asked me to pull some strings, get transfers for her and for Nate to other departments."

"And you got her the transfer to the Crime Lab," Flack filled in.

"It wasn't terribly hard, she was already qualified, and she passed the detective's exam with flying colors," Mac said. "I had to strong-arm my way past the bureaucratic red tape that was holding everyone in at AES, but once I did that, it was easy."

"And Callahan?" Flack asked.

"I could have tried harder," Mac admitted. "I _should_ have tried harder, to be honest. You know how I am with playing politics, though. I suppose at that point, I was a little bit like you – I thought that if they loved each other, they'd find a way to make it work, with or without his transfer. So I made a few calls, but nothing like I could have. And when it didn't come through, I didn't fight for it. I had what I wanted – Stella was staying – so I didn't even think about what it would mean for them as a couple. And he tried, I've got to hand it to the guy, he really tried. He stayed at the AES probably six months after that, putting up with all sorts of crap and abuse from the brass. Eventually, though, he just couldn't do it any more, and he took the job with the FBI."

"And that was the end of the engagement," Flack said.

"Well, the beginning of the end, anyway," Mac said. "She's never told me this, but I know Stella almost left when Nate did – I have a friend in human resources at the Bureau who told me the paperwork had all gone through for her to have a permanent posting in D.C. with Nate, but she pulled the plug at the last minute."

"Why would she do that?" Flack asked.

"To be honest, I think he talked her out of it," Mac said. "And I have to respect him for that. Stella loves New York, it's her home – he knew that better than anyone, and he knew she'd never have really been happy in D.C. She would have put up with it to be with him, but she wouldn't have been happy. So he convinced her they could make the long-distance thing work, but as it turned out, they couldn't. They tried for almost a year, but in the end, it was just too much."

"How did I not know this?" Flack asked. "When did all this happen?"

"You know how private Stella is," Mac said. "She hardly talked to me about it, let alone anyone else. I think she ended it sometime in June of 2004, so that would have been right before you started working with us, I suppose."

"Wow," Flack muttered. "How long were they together?"

"Almost five years," Mac said.

"Five years," Flack repeated with a shake of his head. "Five years and then nothing. That's got to hurt."

"I wouldn't exactly say nothing," Mac said cautiously.

"What do you mean?" Flack asked in confusion.

"Just because they ended the engagement doesn't mean they stopped loving each other," Mac said. "And it certainly doesn't mean that was they never spoke again. They've both had relationships since then, but they always seem to come back to each other when they need someone."

"Like when?" Flack asked.

"Well, after Frankie, for instance," Mac said, drawing a confused stare from Mac. "I know, everyone thinks she stayed with me. Truth is, I offered, but she turned me down. Said she needed to stay at her own place, but when I went by in the morning, she'd packed a bag and was gone. She never said anything for sure, but I put in a call to my HR friend at the FBI, and she told me that that same night, Nate Callahan put in a last minute request for a week of personal necessity time. Same thing after the fire at her apartment, the whole fiasco with Drew Bedford, Aiden's death…and it's not just on her side, either – Nate's had a few scares over the years, and not-so-coincidentally, they all seem to line up perfectly with Stella's personal necessity time or her last-minute sick days."

"So why isn't he here now?" Flack asked.

"I don't know," Mac sighed. "Maybe he doesn't know."

"It's not like we kept her identity a secret," Flack pointed out.

"No, but her condition isn't public knowledge," Mac said. "Just the fact that she was shot. I think – and I don't know for sure – but I think they have an arrangement, to let each other live their own lives, unless he calls her to come or she calls him. If he doesn't know that she can't call…"

"Would she call him?" Flack asked. "Would she want him here?"

"Probably," Mac said reluctantly. "Yeah, she probably would."

"Then you need to call him," Flack said.

"Me?" Mac asked in surprise.

"Well, I don't know him, you do," Flack pointed out, pausing as his phone began vibrating in his pocket. Pulling it out and flipping it open, he frowned as he read the text message.

"Everything alright?" Mac asked.

"It's the Harrison case," Flack said, tossing the phone back into his pocket and standing up to leave.

"That's Lindsay's brother-in-law, right?" Mac asked, feeling just a touch out of the loop after having shifted so much of the energy that was usually focused on work over to Stella.

"Yeah, her sister thinks she remembered something that might help, so I gotta go," Flack said. "Mac, I'm serious, though. If what you told me is true, you need to call the guy. If nothing else, he's someone she'll actually remember."


End file.
